The Psychologist
by Donnamour1969
Summary: Patrick Jane is a psychologist. Teresa Lisbon is his patient. Even in this Alternate Universe, they were destined to meet. Drama/Romance/Humor. Rated T/M for language and sexual situations.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Here is another fic in an effort to pass the interminable time until the new season begins. This idea came to me in the night (as they frequently do), and I couldn't let it go. It is AU in that Jane's life took a different path, one that did not collide with Red John's, but as fate would have it, circumstances still lead him to his soul mate, Teresa Lisbon. As with most AU's, sometimes there are some out of character moments, but please indulge me and don't let that dissuade you from hanging in there with me. I hope you enjoy this new dynamic I've created.

**The Psychologist**

**Chapter 1**

_Sacramento, 2002_

"Dr. Jane," said his secretary over the intercom. "Your four o'clock is here. Ms. Teresa Lisbon."

"Send her in, please," said Patrick Jane.

He got up from his desk with a sigh. The last appointment of the day on a Friday. He didn't know whether he was relieved or filled with dread. Lately, every patient he'd seen had been a complete bore, and he'd figured out their psychosis or phobia or neuroses as soon as they opened their mouths. But then again, the last appointment meant the end of the day, with nothing remotely more interesting to do and no one to go home to. The weekend stretched out before him like a prison sentence, and he sighed again, standing to straighten his three-piece suit (sans tie) and stretch his legs a bit before another hour of tedium.

There was a brief knock at the door, and then a lovely sprite of a woman emerged tentatively from behind the waiting room door. She was not much over five feet, pale skin, wavy sable hair and eyes that exactly matched the sage green of her scoop-neck t-shirt. The tailored charcoal pantsuit bespoke a professional, but the low-heeled boots, commanding air, and slightly furrowed brow told another story: law enforcement.

_Interesting._

Jane smiled and held out his hand. "Teresa," he said, in his softest, most soothing tone. "I'm Dr. Jane."

By the way she narrowed those pretty eyes of hers, he could tell she wasn't buying his put-on shrink persona.

"Hi," she said warily.

Her hand was cool and strong for such a small person, and the confidence in it made his smile widen. He put his left hand on top of hers, enjoying the smoothness of her skin beneath his palm, the minor trip in her pulse at his touch. He was tempted to hold it a little longer than was appropriate, but he made himself release her and indicated his couch for her to sit down.

"A couch?" she said, with a slight smirk that brought out her dimples.

"Or, you can sit in a chair if you'd rather. I like to cater to people's preconceived notions about a psychologist's office," he finished dryly.

He was pleased when she got his humor, and her lips curved into a small smile.

She sat on the couch, crossing her legs demurely while he sat in a neighboring leather chair, mimicking her pose and waiting.

"I don't know why I'm here," she said finally, to his unasked question. She looked shyly down at her hands for a moment.

She was certainly a bundle of contradictions. Confident one moment, timid the next…

_Intriguing._

"Tell me why you _think _you're here."

A quick flash of annoyance lit her face, then she shook her head in resignation and met his eyes. "I've been feeling sort of…_off_ lately."

"Oh? Off how?"

"I'm not enjoying my job."

He nodded. "That's a big deal to you, since I'm guessing your job is your life. But you aren't the kind of woman who had a bad day at the office and rushed off to a shrink straight away. Tell me, what brought you to me, specifically?"

"Actually, I heard a coworker sing your praises. She said you did wonders for her uh…disposition."

"Huh," he said noncommittally.

"And by the way, what do you mean _my job is my life_?" Her hackles abruptly rose and saluted.

"Please don't be offended. It's just what I perceive to be true."

She hesitated, still annoyed that he'd read her so well so quickly. She was likely wondering if she was really that shallow of a person, that he could size her up in an instant. She turned to her go-to defense mechanism: sarcasm.

"So, if you're this great psychologist guy, why don't _you_ tell _me _what's wrong with me and save us both some time?"

He considered her a moment, wondering how they had gotten off on the wrong foot so quickly. But, she'd asked for it…

"All right, then. You're a police officer of some sort, probably a detective, but you're in a leadership position. Your parents are both dead- for some time now. You were forced to take on their roles in your younger siblings' lives, so you have a tremendous capacity for assuming responsibility-which is a polite way of saying you're a control freak."

He paused a moment, enjoying (as he always did) the befuddled reaction when he had pegged someone precisely.

"Your father was an addict—I'm guessing an alcoholic—" he continued briskly, "and you have been struggling lately with whether tossing back a shot at the end of the day is setting you up to be just like him someday. Your job _is_ your life, which is why you haven't had more than a one-night stand since you were promoted to your current position…"

He let his words hang in the air as she picked her jaw up off the floor.

"How did-? Where did you-? Did you investigate me before my appointment?"

"No, not at all. Everything I've said is written in your eyes and demeanor. And also," he finished somewhat sheepishly, "I admit I was showing off a little. Normally I'd allow a client to use up three, maybe four sessions to pull all that information out, but I figured you're a busy lady, so I'd speed things along a bit."

"Thanks?" she said sarcastically.

"You're welcome," was his dry reply.

She suddenly slapped her hands once on her thighs and got to her feet in extreme irritation. "Well, in that case, I guess I'm cured, Doc."

Jane remained seated and calm. "I'm sorry, Teresa, really. Please sit."

She eyed him appraisingly, which gave Jane a very disconcerting feeling, like he was trying to stare down a nun in Catholic school. And he wasn't even Catholic. But Teresa most assuredly was, given the small gold crucifix at her neck and her ability to so accurately imitate a nun.

He was pleased when Lisbon slowly lowered herself back onto his couch. He smiled benignly.

"Let's start over again, shall we? You've become dissatisfied with your job. I imagine that is a very disheartening feeling for a police officer."

"CBI Agent," she corrected. "I'm head of the Serious Crimes Unit."

"Impressive for one so young," he said honestly. "So what is it about your job that you no longer find fulfilling? You putting the bad guys away regularly?"

"Well, yes. But it's frustrating, because they keep coming, and I'm starting to feel overwhelmed, like I'm not even making a dent in all the evil in the world. I'm starting to wonder if it's worth all the headaches. Cases don't come together as quickly as I'd like, and before I have the chance to solve one, another crops up to add to the pile. I go home exhausted every night, alone, and worst of all…I've started to drink. Not much, but given my family history you so aptly deduced, I have the legitimate concern I could become well, dependent upon alcohol."

"You don't feel like you have anyone else you can say these things to, do you?"

Her eyes turned round and watery, but she blinked and forced herself out of her brief melancholy. "No," she said, just above a whisper. "All my friends work for the CBI. I can't tell them I feel like I'm not up to the job. It's hard enough being a woman in such a man-centric field. One sign of weakness, and it'll be all over the unit in no time."

"So you have some trust issues."

She cocked her head. "I suppose in that case, I do," she conceded.

"How much are you drinking?"

She hesitated.

"I'm not going to tell on you, Teresa," he said mildly.

"No, of course not. Doctor-patient privilege."

"Exactly. So…how much?"

"A couple of glasses of scotch a night." Jane could tell she was extremely embarrassed.

"Does it make you drunk?"

"No. It just passes the time. Helps me to forget. Helps me to sleep."

"You stop off at a bar after work or drink at home, by yourself?"

"Home alone," she admitted. "I know how bad that sounds. That's why I'm here, Dr. Jane."

"Not that I'm not happy to help you, but I wonder that you didn't just go to AA or something."

"I'm _not_ an alcoholic," she protested. "And I really don't believe in the _anonymous_ part anyway."

"Trust issues," Jane reiterated.

She paused, processing this. "Yes," she confessed.

"So, the shrink."

"Yes, the shrink."

Jane smiled. "Okay. Good. Now we know at least part of what we're dealing with here. You feel helpless, alone, out of control. Given your lingering resentments of your out-of-control, drunken father, it's understandable you'd be concerned. I can help you, Teresa, but you do have to trust me for this to work."

"You think I have daddy issues, don't you?"

"Don't you?"

"Yes."

"Well, then. I think we should start there…"

Lisbon spent most of the rest of the hour-long session describing the events surrounding her mother's accidental death, her father's inability to deal with the loss, and her subsequent responsibility for her family at the age of fifteen. She related how she'd protected her little brothers from her father's drunken rages, often taking the brunt of it to save them. When she was eighteen, she'd found her father dead, face down in his own vomit. She'd gotten legal custody of her brothers, and finished raising them on her own.

It seemed to help her just by getting it all out, Jane realized. In effect, she was conducting her own therapy session, which pleased him immensely. It wouldn't take much to snap her out of her malaise, a strong woman like Teresa Lisbon, and he felt a strange twinge of disappointment that her counseling wouldn't last very long.

Jane was surprised to find he hadn't even glanced at the clock, so it was Lisbon who pointed out the approaching deadline of their session.

"Tell me, Agent Lisbon, what are you planning to do now? It's five o'clock on a Friday. Quitting time…"

"I'll probably go back to work. I took two hours off this afternoon for my appointment with you."

"Do you think you're more of a workaholic than an alcoholic?" he teased.

She smiled. "Probably. No _Workaholic's Anonymous_ out there, I suppose."

Jane smiled too. "No, which is a shame, but then no one would take off work to go to the meetings. So, here's your homework for the week. Cut down to one glass of scotch a night. Or, go out with friends from work and drink as much as you like."

She raised an eyebrow. "You're seriously telling a budding alcoholic to go out and drink?"

"As always, the root problem of an alcoholic is not the love of drinking. With you, Teresa, it's your feeling of aloneness," he said gently. "You've felt this way since your mother died. Try a little harder to make close friends, to listen to the problems of others, to take an interest in someone else's life. That's what takes your mind off your own."

He could tell she saw the merit in his suggestions, but they both knew that it wasn't going to be easy for her to pull herself out of old habits.

"Is that why you're a psychologist?" She surprised him by asking.

"Yes," he said honestly. "It is now."

She nodded, a sudden understanding dawning. "You grew up with carnie folk, met your wife at a young age. You escaped that life, went to college, became a successful psychologist in Malibu, settled down and had a child. Your wife and daughter died two years ago in a car accident. You were driving."

Jane felt his mouth go dry, his heart accelerate in his chest. She hadn't said any of that to be cruel, he knew instinctively, but she had certainly put him in his place.

"I'm sorry," she said, noting his tight expression. "I thought you'd like to know just how that feels. Maybe you shouldn't show off so much."

"Tell me, Agent Lisbon, was looking into my background an appropriate use of CBI resources?"

He wasn't angry, exactly, but her words had brought everything back in a rush—the guilt, the pain, the grief.

"No, probably not. Trust issues though, remember?"

They looked at each other for the first time with complete honesty between them. Jane himself felt nearly naked, having successfully hidden his true self from others for more than two years.

No one in Sacramento knew his real past, his real anguish. How he blamed himself for not seeing the car swerve into his lane on the freeway that night. He'd been arguing with Angela again over something stupid—the trauma of the accident had blocked out his memory of what—and he'd just yelled at Charlotte in the backseat to put her seatbelt back on when the drunk driver had slammed into the Mercedes head on. He remembered how the car had spun around like a top, felt the sickening impact as another car plowed into the passenger's side. Then they'd rolled, and Jane had awakened in the hospital, bruised and broken and heartbreakingly alone.

His right hand went unconsciously to the golden band he still wore on his left. He told new acquaintances he was a widower, and women who approached him romantically, that he was married. And now, this fellow wounded soul was exposing him for who he really was: a scarred, self-loathing fraud. He didn't quite know how to feel about that.

"I'll see you next week, then?" Lisbon was asking, rising from his couch.

Jane tried valiantly to pull himself together and focus on his new patient. He should tell her right then that this wasn't going to work, that he could recommend someone else better to help her. He didn't like not being the smartest person in the room, or having anyone one up on him. He saw in a flash how this could get messy and unpredictable and bring up all kinds of confusing emotions. He should just kick the woman to the curb right now, be satisfied with his other patients' dull, humdrum problems—

"Yes," he found himself saying, standing up to shake her hand again.

This time, he did hold onto it a bit longer than necessary. He smiled steadily into her eyes, and got back the odd sensation that this woman _knew _him, could see through his bullshit and beyond his cool, confident exterior to his real vulnerabilities. She smiled back and squeezed his hand gently before politely disengaging hers from his grasp-but not before he saw how his nearness had affected her. It left him a bit shaken, as well.

"Don't forget to do your homework," he said, opening the door to the waiting room.

"Hmm," she said noncommittally, leaving him to wonder as he watched her walk quickly out of his office, if she'd actually take his advice. "Good night, Dr. Jane," she threw over her shoulder.

"Good night," he called to the empty waiting room, as the exterior door closed softly behind her.

He grinned. He was already looking forward to next week.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon sat in her dark blue Mustang in the parking lot of Patrick Jane's office building. She took a few deep breaths, trying to comprehend what had just happened in the mere space of an hour. She still couldn't believe she'd found the courage to actually go to a psychologist, and now that she'd met Dr. Jane, she was in awe to realize how easy it had been to share with this stranger what had been silently weighing on her for years. She didn't quite believe he hadn't researched her beforehand, but he knew things that only she did, so where could he have looked to find this information, except into her soul? The thought made her shiver. She could only conclude that he was gifted in reading people, which had to make him a very effective psychologist.

She hadn't meant to throw her own research into his face, but she'd felt oddly defensive around him, perhaps because he'd managed to pull down those defenses of hers so quickly, leaving her feeling vulnerable and a bit frightened by it. She would apologize again the next time they met. _She _was the patient after all, and he had the right to his own privacy.

She sighed and started her car, driving back toward the CBI HQ just down the street from the Capitol. She would put in a couple hours on the endless paperwork on her desk, then go home and try to limit her scotch intake to one glass. She wasn't ready to join Cho, Rigsby or Hannigan on their usual Friday night of beer and fish and chips at O'Malley's. She'd maintain her usual professional distance, at least for now. One step at a time. Not that she hadn't been invited, and not that she didn't like these men whom she commanded. They were a good team, did good police work. So what if their careful investigations had made them fall behind in the number of cases closed compared to other units in the CBI? When they nailed someone, their cases were rarely thrown out. That was something to be proud of.

She waved as she passed Cho and Rigsby driving out of the CBI parking lot as she drove in, the more senior Hannigan bringing up the rear in his own car. She wondered if they too felt the frustrations she did with the slow pace of things. She certainly knew her boss, Minelli did, and she felt the benevolent pressure from that quarter from time to time. She knew he wished their close rate was as good as the Narcotics Unit.

She sat behind her desk and automatically flipped on her computer to check her email. Absently, she pulled up her browser history, and Patrick Jane's information page appeared. She clicked on it, and immediately his photograph filled the screen. It was some sort of advertising picture for his Malibu practice, and in it, Dr. Jane was smiling that million-watt smile of his, which no doubt had brought in the women patients by the dozens.

He was even better looking in person, she thought, though the years that had passed since the picture was taken had brought more lines around his beautiful sea-green eyes. His curling blonde hair ran more toward dishwater tones now than professional highlights, and it was longer, shaggier, more careless. He still wore an expensive three-piece suit, but he'd abandoned the tie. She wondered idly what that was about.

Still, she couldn't deny she was attracted to him, that he made her nervous, and perhaps that was a good enough reason to stop seeing him. How would she be able to focus on getting control of her life when she couldn't control her attraction to him? But her friend from Vice had been right—this guy knew his stuff. It was like he had a sixth sense- she'd even venture to say, a gift from God. Plus, she was tired of making excuses for not getting help. If she didn't get a handle on this now, she'd lose her career, become a lush, and no man would want her then.

So she'd continue to see him, to trust her instincts that told her he knew what he was doing, that maybe Patrick Jane himself had been put in her path by God. She stared another moment into the eyes of his image, sorry that grief for his family had likely brought those additional lines to his face. But the face she had seen today had infinitely more character, more emotion than the empty eyes in the photo. He was an arrogant asshole, overly confident in his abilities, but there was something within him that called to her, a mutual understanding that stemmed from their similar tragic pasts.

"Okay, Dr. Jane," she said aloud to his image. "I'll give you one month." She smiled wryly at him, but the slick doctor had no reply. "That's about all I can afford of your rates anyway." She wasn't about to use the bureau's insurance plan to pay for a shrink.

She exited out of the CBI's database and sat back in her chair, her eyes dropping to the bottom drawer of her desk where she kept a bottle of tequila. She was sorely tempted to take it out and pour a glass, but Jane's advice that she not drink alone reverberated in her mind. Maybe next week she'd go with the boys to O'Malley's.

_Small steps_, she said to herself.

In the meantime, paperwork would be her companion. Too bad it didn't have beautiful sea-green eyes.

**A/N: I hope you like where this is going, that you see the potential for these two sad souls to find one another. Please log in and let me know what you think so far. The next chapter is already coming along, but in the meantime, I hope you check out my other fics, especially my current collaboration with Nerwen Aldarion in "Double Talk."**

**P.S.: A special thanks to all my tweeps on Twitter for being such wonderfully supportive sounding boards. You guys rock. Follow me there as donnamour1969 as well.**


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I was so very pleased with the response to my first chapter! Thanks so much to all those who reviewed, especially you first-timers. And thanks to those who have never taken a chance on an AU before this. I hope I don't let you down. Now, to the next chapter. You might see Lisbon as being a bit harsher and more sarcastic. This is how I think Lisbon might have been were it not for the presence of Jane in her life to add some humor and excitement. Well, that is about to change for this fic…

**Chapter 2**

"So," said Jane, "tell me about the men in your life."

Lisbon smiled a little, and it carried over into her voice.

"Well, there's Cho, who is sort of my right-hand man. I can always count on him to get to the point and not pull any punches. He is also the best interrogator I've ever seen. Then there is Rigsby, who reminds me of my little brother James, though Rigsby is twice as tall. He's very sweet natured, but good at what he does. Hannigan has a bad temper, but he's trying to get a handle on that. He resents that I'm so much younger than him, that he should have a command himself by now, but he's a good man at heart. He certainly knows law enforcement inside and out. And then there's Minelli, my boss. Probably the best man I have ever known."

Jane noted the way her eyes had welled a bit when she spoke of her boss this way.

"He's like a father to you," Jane supplied with his usual insight.

"Yes," she said readily, surprised at how emotional she'd become. "If I could have chosen a man to be my dad, he would have been it."

Jane was oddly touched by her affection for Minelli. Truth be told, he had his own father issues, so he empathized fully with her desires on that score. If only one could actually pick one's parents...

"I actually meant for you to talk about your _romantic_ relationships, but this is very telling. You have good relationships with the men you work with, and I have no doubt they respect and admire you, even Hannigan, who likely still gives his respect grudgingly. They are your friends and a substitute family, but it only further emphasizes how your work is your life, as I pointed out in our last session."

Lisbon flushed. "Oh."

"So," he prompted with an amused smile, "why don't you describe your last _romantic_ relationship."

"Well," she said sheepishly. "It was about six months ago. I was in San Francisco at a conference. We met in the Weapons Handling breakout session—"

"Aw," he interrupted. "A match made in heaven."

"Are you mocking me? Are good shrinks really supposed to do that?"

"I'm sorry; you're right. Please, go on."

"Anyway," she continued, still annoyed at the interruption, "He asked me to lunch, then to dinner, then uh, one thing led to another. It ended after the conference did, and I haven't heard from him since."

"How was the sex?" he asked, trying to sound merely professionally curious.

"It was fine," she said, her tone clipped with embarrassment.

"Was it satisfying?"

"What do you mean?"

He sighed in rare impatience. "You know what I mean, Teresa. Did you have an orgasm?"

"I don't see why that's important." Her pale skin was now the exact color of her scarlet blouse, and she picked at an imaginary piece of lint on her slacks.

"It's important to know if we're going to get to the bottom of why you feel so alone, Teresa. If your are just having one night—"

"It was _two_ nights," she corrected him.

"Okay, if your sexual encounters are always so _brief_, we need to delve into why that is. It could be that you are not fulfilled by the men you choose, either emotionally _or_ physically."

"No," she said finally.

"No, you didn't have an orgasm?"

"No."

"Did _he_?"

"Holy Mother of God," she said in utter humiliation. "Yes, he did. Both times."

"Hmmm."  
"What the hell does that mean?" she asked, her temper rising.

"Do you _ever _have orgasms?"

She swore under her breath. "Yes! Well, sometimes," she amended.

He decided to let her off the hook a bit, though he certainly wanted to return to that intriguing problem eventually. He could give her some helpful tips, but he would save that for another time. He chose to push aside why the very idea made him so uncomfortable. He shifted in his chair.

"Okay," he said soothingly. "Relax. Take a deep breath. Good. Now, how often do you do this—have sex with strangers?"

"Not very often. Usually it's someone I know casually. A guy from the gym. An FBI agent that is only in town for a few days at a time. Actually, I see him whenever he's in Sacramento."

She paused, her pretty face suddenly contorted with anguish. "You think I'm a slut, don't you?"

Jane actually looked startled by the question. "No, of course not. But _you_ must have thought it, to characterize yourself in such a way."

"Yes," she said. "What the hell is wrong with me?"

"The guilt you feel obviously comes from your strict Catholic upbringing. Now as to why you don't find yourself in committed relationships—well that is obvious to me, though maybe you haven't realized it yourself."

"No," she said. "I just figured I hadn't found the right man yet, that when he came along I would know it, and we'd fall in love and get married, like it's supposed to happen."

Jane shook his head. "There's no right or wrong in how that happens, Teresa. The reason you haven't found Mr. Right is because of your trust issues. You'll forgive my invoking the name of Freud, but there it is. You couldn't trust your father. He let you down, was abusive, wasn't supportive. You still crave affection, still have a woman's needs, but you subconsciously choose men you know don't have the power to hurt you, like your father did. What's more, you end things before the men ever even have the chance to get close to you."

"Yes," she said, tearing up for the second time. He leaned forward and offered her a box of tissues. She took one gratefully. "I can see now you're right; it's so damn obvious. Why didn't I ever realize this before?"

"Often we sublimate our true feelings and desires. Now that you know this about yourself, you'll enter into your next encounter with your eyes wide open."

She sniffled a moment into her tissue, then looked at him through spiky wet lashes, her eyes pale green with tears. "I'm sorry, Dr. Jane," she said suddenly.

"No need to apologize. These are emotional issues you haven't—"

"No, I mean for what I said last week. Your personal life was none of my business. I certainly shouldn't have thrown it in your face when you were just trying to help me."

Jane was seldom taken aback by anyone, but this strong young woman was surprising him left and right. It would be refreshing, if it weren't equally disruptive to his usual control of a situation.

"I wasn't offended, though I admit I'm not used to being on the other side of the psychologist's couch…" He gave her a reassuring smile, and she was glad she was forgiven. _Typical Catholic_, he thought. _He wondered if he should suggest she say a few Hail Marys._

"But back to you," he said, uncomfortable with the personal turn of the conversation. "How did you do with your homework?"

"Well," she said, "I didn't go out with friends, but I only had one drink a night. As a matter of fact, there were a couple nights when I didn't drink at all."

For the first time in years, Jane genuinely cared that a client had followed his suggestion. "Well done, Teresa," he said, his smile equally sincere. "Now, how do you feel about this accomplishment?"

"I'm glad I could resist drinking. I'm seeing that it is more of a habit than a dependency, for which I am very thankful."

"And what did you do to replace that behavior?"

"Well," she said sheepishly. "I worked. And went to the shooting range."

His eyebrows rose. "That's very workaholic of you. Did you do these things alone?"

"Yes," she said.

"Okay, then. Your new assignment is to try this time to actually go out with friends, or do some of those _policey_ things"—he waved dismissively—"with another human being outside of work."

"_Policey things_?" she said with a grin.

"You know, shootin' stuff, eating donuts, driving defensively…"

It was the first time he'd heard her laugh, and it tingled pleasantly up and down his spine, her dimples and sparkling eyes momentarily captivating him. His own smile froze on his face as he watched her. He relaxed as she dabbed her eyes again, this time from laughter.

"Thanks," she said, when she could speak. "I haven't laughed like that in a while."

"It's a shame," he said softly. Their eyes met with more than a tinge of awareness, and she balled the tissue in her fist at the sudden tension. Jane scribbled some nonsense down on his notepad, surprised at his discomfort. He hadn't even looked at a woman since his wife died, and this thing—whatever _this thing_ was—between him and his new patient had snuck up on him, and it was wreaking havoc with his focus.

He cleared his throat. "Next time, we'll talk about your job, along with your related control issues."

"Oh, goody," she said with typical sarcasm, "because there's nothing quite like going through one's faults one at a time."

"Therapy is hard work, Teresa. You should appreciate that."

She leaned her head back against the leather couch and closed her eyes.

"Hard work," she mumbled. "Ha. That's all I ever do."

He could feel the tiredness emanating from her like toxic radiation_. _

"I want you to hold that pose, Teresa," he said, his voice going smooth as velvet. He moved to sit by her on the couch, and he felt her body tense at his nearness.

"Relax. Take deep breaths…in through your mouth…out through your nose. That's it," he encouraged, as she tried to imitate his example, both of them closing their eyes in concentration.

They began breathing in sync, richly and deeply, and soon he felt her genuinely relax for the first time since they met. After a few minutes, Jane became aware of the sounds of their breaths in the quiet office, and it occurred to him that the rhythm they had established seemed almost sexual in nature, at least to him. He abruptly stopped with the exercise, holding his breath instead when he opened his eyes to look at her. She was very nearly asleep, lulled by the effective method he'd employed, and it was a revelation to see her so still, so tranquil, so lovely.

_This wasn't good_, he thought. _Not good at all. _

So, of course, he had to ruin it.

"Teresa," he said, nudging her knee with his. "Time's up, I'm afraid."

"Hm?" She opened her eyes, disoriented and a little embarrassed almost to have fallen asleep in his office, not to mention being in such close proximity to Jane. She smothered a yawn.

"Oh, so sorry. I didn't mean to keep you. It's a Friday night for you too."

"Yes," he said without enthusiasm. "So, still have time to catch up with your coworkers at O'Malley's?"

"I suppose," she said hesitantly.

He was still sitting on the couch beside her, and he could tell this disconcerted her, so he rose and went back to his chair.

"Come on, Teresa. Somehow I think you were never late with your homework."

"Okay," she said. "I think I will."

"Good. I expect a full report next week."

They both stood and he escorted her once more to the door.

"Thank you, Dr. Jane," she said.

"You're welcome. Now, go out there and have fun."

She laughed. "Okay. Good night."

"Good night."

Jane had told his secretary she could leave after his session had started with Lisbon, so, somewhat ironically, he was on his own on a Friday night. He locked the front door and turned the _Closed _sign around, then strode to the kitchenette at the back of his office. He plugged in the electric teakettle, Teresa Lisbon still on his mind. He'd predicted this would become complicated for him, but he never dreamed she would consume him so completely, so quickly. And it was so strong he couldn't even slip it into his mental denial file. For one thing, of course, it was completely unprofessional that he should be attracted—_yes, attracted!_—to a patient. Not that boundaries like that had ever mattered to Jane, but he knew they would to a woman like Teresa. More disturbing, however, was the guilt he was feeling because he was attracted to a woman who wasn't his wife.

Technically he was free, and no one—not even Angela, he suspected—would begrudge him a chance to move on. But every time the thought had occurred to him, he saw the bright lights of that oncoming car, and he knew he didn't deserve to be free, not with his family forever imprisoned in the ground.

So deeply was Jane in thought that the distant knock on the door made him jump. He set down his teacup with a clatter and turned off the kettle, moving curiously back into the waiting room. Teresa Lisbon was looking sheepishly in through the glass door. His heart leapt at the unexpected sight of her, and a wide grin spread across his face before he could help it. He moved to unlock the door.

"Did you forget something?" he asked.

"I wish. No, my damn car won't start, and it will take AAA up to an hour to get here. It's hot as hell outside, so I was wondering if you'd mind if I waited inside—just until you leave, of course."

"Well, come on in. I was just making some tea. You want some?"

"Sure."

"Chamomile, oolong, mint, orange pekoe, red zinger, hibiscus, lemon, earl grey, raspberry, jasmine, dragon well green, lapsang sou—?"

She held up her hands and laughed when she saw he could keep going on for some time. "Surprise me. I trust you."

"Well, that's progress," he said with a wink. Then he snapped his fingers. "Aw, I know just the one for you."

He headed back toward the kitchenette, inordinately pleased when she followed him. He plugged in the teakettle again, then opened a cupboard, rooting around the various boxes of teas, both loose leaf and bagged.

"Wow," she said dryly, "you're a man who knows his tea."

"Sorry I don't know cars as well. Unless it's checking the oil or adding wiper fluid, I'm stumped. What do you think is wrong with yours?"

"The alternator again, I'm pretty sure. I've had this car since high school, when my brothers helped me fix it up, but I think it's time to let the old thing go and get a new one. Sometimes you just have to let go of the past, I suppose. The new Mustangs are pretty nice. Not the same as a '65, but that's progress, as they say."

He paused, his back to her as he prepared her cup. It was downright eerie that her wanting to buy a new car was a metaphor for his life. The water had come to a full boil and he poured hot water into two mugs. He dunked the loose tea ball into her cup, allowing the leaves to steep. He turned to face her, deciding he liked seeing her off his couch and leaning against the doorframe of his kitchenette, a bemused smile on her elfin face.

He presented her teacup and saucer with a flourish, and she peered into the depths of the green tinted liquid, the slightly sweet fragrance curling up to her nostrils.

"What is it?" she asked.

He grinned. "It's called…_gunpowder_."

She chuckled with delight. "Not _real _gunpowder, I take it." She sipped tentatively.

"No, the leaves are rolled into tight little balls that resemble it…Well?"

She nodded. "Nice. Not quite the punch of red zinger, but still…"

She was mocking him, but he found he enjoyed her teasing tone. He leaned back against the counter and took a sip of his plain earl grey.

"You're really more of a coffee person, aren't you," he observed blandly.

"Coffee _snob_, Rigsby would say. Hot and strong, like my—" she paused, then blushed, realizing she had fallen into inappropriate, casual conversation with this man. Flirting with him, like he wasn't her therapist. She covered her embarrassment with another shot of gunpowder.

"Would you be more comfortable in the waiting room?" he asked, noting her body language. She was tense again. They were doing this awkward little dance around each other. Professional distance. Personal closeness. Teasing flirtation. Distance again. He was getting a little dizzy from it.

"Sure," she replied.

She walked ahead of him, and he kept his eyes resolutely forward and not on the gentle sway of her hips.

She sat on the waiting room couch facing the door, so she could see when the towing service arrived, and Jane forced himself to make his excuses.

"Is there anything else I can get for you? I think there are some muffins in the kitchen…"

"No, no thank you. I appreciate the air conditioning, believe me."

"Okay, well, I'll just be in my office if you need me."

"Yes, thanks. And thanks for the tea. It's pretty good."

"Gunpowder," he said, toasting her with his cup.

She smiled. "Yes it is."

After twenty minutes of Jane sitting at his desk not doing paperwork, he heard Lisbon's cell phone ring.

"What?" she said to her caller. "No way. Seriously? Why do I subscribe to your service every year if this is the kind of rapid response I get? Okay. Well, I expect a refund, buddy. Yeah. You do that."

He heard the hard click of her cell phone snapping shut with anger.

"Damn idiots."

Jane peaked around the corner of his office door.

"Problems?"

"Yes. Their damn tow truck broke down. Can you believe that? I'll just call a cab and head home. Do you mind if my car spends the night in your parking lot? They may not get to it until early tomorrow morning."

"Sure, no problem. But don't call a cab. I'll drive you wherever you want to go. Maybe…O'Malley's?"

He knew as soon as he offered that it was a mistake. He should have let her call a cab. Hell, he should have dialed the number himself.

"I couldn't ask you to do that," she said.

That was his cue to back out, but he found himself saying, "I'd be more than happy to…on one condition…"

She shook her head, but smiled. "You drive a hard bargain, Dr. Jane."

Xxxxxxxxxx

O'Malley's was a happening pub on a Friday night, packed to the gills with hardworking professionals celebrating the end of the workweek. Jane hadn't been in such a place in years, and as they pulled up outside the door in his Citroen, there was something about it that he found very inviting. He could hear the music and laughter calling to him. He'd fully intended just to drop Lisbon off and head home, but then she noticed his hesitation.

"Aren't you coming in?" Lisbon asked.

"It wouldn't be appropriate for a therapist to socialize with a current patient," he said, in the professional tone he knew he should take.

"But meeting my coworkers might help you to get more insight into my problems," she said.

He gave her a sidelong glance. "Are you nervous about going in there?"

"What? No, of course not."

"You're a terrible liar, Teresa." He drove the car toward a distant parking spot and pulled in. He turned off the engine. "Let's go."

"I don't want them to know who you are," she warned him.

"Okay. Stick with me, kid," he said with a mischievous grin.

**A/N: I hope you like where this is going. Please log in and let me know. Remember, if you ask me a question in your review, I can't respond personally. Thanks for reading! **


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews of the last chapter! I wish I could respond personally to the guest reviews, but I can't if you don't log in. I had fun with this next chapter, and it is my sincere hope that you do too…

**Chapter 3**

A small live band played an old Hall and Oates song as Jane and Lisbon entered O'Malley's. She found her three coworkers in a corner, eating their fish and chips, a half-full pitcher of beer in the center of the table. They looked up at Lisbon in surprise. They could count on one hand the number of times she'd joined them there for a meal, most of those for lunch, but she had known there was always a standing invitation for her company.

"Hey, Boss," said Rigbsy warmly.

"Hi," said Lisbon, trying to sound casual when her heart was racing with nerves about Jane's presence. _Was it too late to send him back outside?_

"Boss," said Cho with a nod. He showed no detectable emotion.

"Agent Lisbon," said Hannigan, eyeing Jane with open curiosity—or maybe suspicion was a better description.

"Patrick Jane," said her companion before she could introduce him. "I'm a psychologist."

Lisbon froze.

She'd planned to let them assume he was her date or something, not tell her coworkers she'd brought her shrink with her for moral support.

_What the hell was he doing? He's ruining my life, that's what!_

Jane held out his hand to shake with her colleagues, who were looking at her in surprised speculation. She watched dumbly as he reached over to the next table and dragged two empty chairs beside her team, smiling at the other table's occupants—three women, who blushed, giggled, and stared at the sexy psychologist.

_Sheesh,_ thought Lisbon numbly, _they'd probably give him their first born child if he smiled twice._

"I've heard so much about you guys," continued Jane amiably, after he and Lisbon had sat down.

"Oh?" said Rigsby, shooting a questioning look at his boss.

"Yes. She felt I should get to know the team before we worked together."

He really should have warned her about what he was planning, thought Lisbon, so she wouldn't have this deer in the headlights look after his every statement.

"Work together?" asked Hannigan, a French fry poised before his lips.

At that moment, their waitress appeared to take Jane and Lisbon's orders. She ordered another mug with the idea of fortifying herself from the beer pitcher, and Jane ordered more tea of all things, along with some fish and chips of his own. Lisbon didn't know whether she'd be able to keep anything down, but at Jane's nudge beneath the table, she sputtered out her order of a Reuben sandwich.

"I'm here to consult on your latest open case," Jane lied.

"The Lewis kidnapping?" said Rigsby.

"Yeah, that's the one," said Jane artlessly. "Right, Agent Lisbon?"

Another nudge beneath the table.

"Uh, yeah. That's right," she managed after a beat.

Cho's eyes narrowed. "Minelli didn't say anything about a consultant when I saw him earlier."

"He wanted to talk to your team leader first," said Jane smoothly. Lisbon hoped she'd be able to remember the intricacies of the lie he was weaving.

"We have in-house criminal psychologists and profilers that normally handle this stuff, when they're actually _needed_," said Hannigan, deeply offended.

"Oh, I'm sure they're very good at their jobs," said Jane. "And I'm not here to take away from that. I'm pretty good at reading people though. Maybe Minelli thought an outsider would add a new perspective."

Everyone was silent a moment, and Lisbon was grateful when the waitress returned with her beer mug. Lisbon was pleased when she didn't slosh it over the sides when she poured her own, her hands were trembling so hard.

"What do you think of this, Boss?" asked Hannigan, his tone accusing.

Lisbon took a long draught of beer, wiped at her mouth delicately, and turned to the older man. "He is very good at reading people," she conceded, happy her voice didn't shake as much as her hands. "It wouldn't hurt for new eyes to look at the case. I know the parents are going out of their minds since all our leads dead-ended a week ago."

Jane smiled encouragingly, and she had the overwhelming desire to pop him one in the nose. She clenched her fists beneath the table.

"What, are you also a psychic or something?" asked Rigsby in amusement. "Because that would come in much handier about now."

"There are no such things as psychics," said Jane breezily.

"This just a one-time deal?" asked Cho, sprinkling more vinegar on his fish.

"Yes," said Lisbon.

"Maybe," said Jane, replying simultaneously.

This time, Lisbon nudged _him_, not nearly as gently, which made Jane grin almost gleefully.

_The bastard was enjoying himself._

"We'll see how it goes," Jane amended, looking around the table at Lisbon's disgruntled team. "So, tell me everything about the case. Minelli wanted me to hear it all from you…"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Outside the restaurant an hour later, Lisbon was as spitting mad as a wet cat, and Jane knew it, so he put a calming hand on her shoulder as they walked back to his Citroen. She shook it off violently, but held off lambasting him until they were safely inside the car. She would have hitched a ride with Cho, but couldn't pass up the opportunity to give the psychologist a _real _piece of her mind.

"I can't freakin' believe you!"

"What? You didn't have fun? _I _had fun."

"Yeah, at my expense. That was not how it was supposed to go. You were supposed to act like a friend or something—I'd have even pretended you were my boyfriend, for God's sake—but you told them you're a psychologist? That you were consulting on a case? When Minelli hears about this, there's not just gonna be a crap storm raining down on me, it's gonna be a goddamn hurricane!"

"Rigsby mentioned he was at a conference in DC for a week," said Jane soothingly. "I doubt if any of your illustrious team is going to bother the Big Boss while he's out of town. That gives us a week to solve this case, and then I'll bow out and give you all the credit."

Her mouth dropped open as she looked at him beside her in the driver's seat.

"No, no, no, no, no," she said when she could think coherently. "No way you are going anywhere near the CBI, let alone the case files. I can't begin to count the number of regs I'd be violating if I allowed you past the front door."

"Rules, smules, Teresa. I think I've figured out the secret to solving all of your problems. You need something to stir things up in your humdrum life, something to be excited about, to look forward to—"

"I look forward to still having a job every day," she said heatedly.

"But weren't you invigorated in there, when you didn't know what was going to happen next? Wasn't your blood pumping, your mind racing-?"

"That happens when I'm chasing down a suspect, so I get plenty of that, thank you very much. If you wanted me to go out and have fun with my friends, I'm telling you, Dr. Jane, that little experience just made me want to crawl into bed with a friendly bottle of scotch."

He changed tactics.

"But about the little Lewis girl, Teresa? I really do think I could figure out who might have taken her, or maybe even where she is."

"Not gonna happen."

He shifted in his seat to look at her. "You researched my background, right? Read about my former life with the carnival? Did you see what I used to be called?"

"Yeah, Boy Wonder. So what? You were some sort of fortune teller?"

"Sometimes," he nodded. "But mainly I was a mentalist. I could cold read people, or figure them out based on their body language and other physiological reactions. I passed myself off as a psychic, but it was nothing more than observational tricks. You saw how good I was at reading you," he finished softly.

Lisbon remembered that he had lost his own little girl, and her face softened.

"I realize this must hit close to home, but you do know that after all this time has passed, the Lewis girl is likely dead. It's very sad, but unfortunately that's the way these things almost always turn out."

Jane nodded. "Yes, I've heard this-I've had a few classes in criminology too, by the way. But her parents deserve closure. Maybe I can get that for them. It was hard enough losing my own child to a drunk driver. He died in the accident too, so while it was the worst pain in the world, at least I had closure. I shudder to think what I might have turned into had I never known who killed her, whether I could have stood the never-ending torment knowing that the person who harmed my child wasn't paying for his crime. And in this case it's a million times worse, because those parents have no idea what's really become of their daughter. Let me just look at the file, see if I can give some insight. What could that possibly hurt?"

"But you're my psychologist," she pointed out. "I mean, how the hell did this even happen? One minute I was spilling my guts on your office couch, the next, you've joined my team. Oh, God." She put her face in her hands.

"Let me help," he said seriously. "You won't be sorry. Even you said to the guys that it might be helpful for new eyes to look at the case."

She raised her head to look at him. He certainly looked sincere, but then he'd just completely fooled her team, some of the best investigators she knew. Was she being selfish, though? Could her unwavering adherence to the law be standing in the way of finding an endangered girl?

"Fine. Come into the office first thing Monday morning. You can look at the file—"

"Maybe interview suspects?" he pressed.

"Absolutely not."

"Come on, Teresa. I need to actually talk to some suspects if I'm to gauge their guilt or innocence. You can be present, and kick me under the table again if I do something wrong. I think I'm going to have a bruise by the way—those damn boots of yours should be classified as dangerous weapons."

But he grinned when he said it. His eyes were twinkling persuasively at her, and he was in full charm mode to get his way. He really was irresistible, and she suddenly found herself letting go of every legitimate doubt she'd had just five seconds before.

_Talk about your dangerous weapon,_ she thought sardonically. She blushed, thankful it was dim inside the car, save for the faint light from the restaurant.

"Okay," she relented with a sigh, "but you'd better not corrupt any of the hard work my people have done by asking suspects about their mothers."

Jane chuckled. "I promise, I won't even _mention_ Oedipus."

"Good."

They were quiet a moment in his little car, and they could still hear the drumbeats from the band inside O'Malley's.

"As far as this night is concerned," Jane said, as if picking up an old thread of conversation, "I'm proud of you for choosing to go out, to not sit at home on a Friday night, drinking alone. It was a good first step."

"You're kidding me, right? You just made my life ten times more difficult. I've lied to my friends and colleagues, and if Minelli gets wind of this, it could mean my job. I should have stayed home."

His warm hand suddenly landed on hers where it rested in her lap. She tensed, and her blood pounded double time.

"Once you relaxed and went along with my ruse, you enjoyed yourself, admit it," he said softly. "And besides…the music was good. Lots of good tunes came out of the eighties."

She rolled her eyes. "Now you're _really_ lying," she said, but she was smiling again.

Jane started the car, satisfied that her dark mood had lifted. "Okay then. Where would you like me to drop you?"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He'd taken her to the CBI Headquarters to borrow one of the dark company SUV's, then thought about her all the way back to his office. He'd considered returning to his extended stay motel room (He'd be able to afford a nicer place, if he weren't still paying off the million dollar mortgage on his beach house in Malibu—another thing he couldn't let go of) but the idea seemed extremely dreary after having spent the evening in Teresa's invigorating company.

He had teased her about how great O'Malley's had been, but in actuality, Jane himself had enjoyed their dinner there immensely. It was so nice to be with smart professionals in a lively place with good food. He'd forgotten how much he enjoyed socializing. He had to admit to himself that it had been good for him to go out as well. It had been an impulsive decision, designed to get Teresa to do her homework, but as it happened, apparently he'd gotten more out of it than she had.

Now, he had something to look forward to on Monday. He'd have to tell his secretary to cancel his morning appointments-hell, maybe the whole day's. He was due for some time off, but it was only now that he'd found something worthwhile enough to lose money over.

He went into his inner office, and had made it halfway to his desk before he turned and looked at the couch that dominated one wall. Maybe he'd take a quick nap before tackling the backload of paperwork needing his signature. He hung his suit coat on the coat rack, kicked off his shoes, and stretched out on the leather couch. He adjusted the pillows beneath his head to a more comfortable position, and then he smelled her. Teresa…She'd held one of the throw pillows in her lap while she'd spoken to him here earlier, and he turned his face into it, breathing in her cherry vanilla fragrance as if she were there.

He was already walking a fine, blurry line with her. _Several _lines, really. Lines that demarked professional integrity. Personal interest. Physical attraction. She'd caused him to forget his wife for hours at a time, for crying out loud. The line that had divided him from any kind of personal relationship with a woman was in danger of becoming rubbed out altogether. _Damn her green eyes. And her soft skin._

He turned on his back and looked up at the ceiling, allowing himself to think of Teresa, to imagine her lying with him on this couch, her silky hair spread over the pillow, his body covering hers as he lowered his mouth to kiss her sweet lips… Jane had always had a vivid imagination, and this daydream appeared so clear in his mind that he felt an unfamiliar fullness within his slacks. He squeezed his eyes shut, noting with something akin to fear how his breathing had quickened. He turned back onto his stomach and threw the pillow across the room.

But he still smelled her, and it made him groan aloud.

"I want her," he said, his voice muffled against the leather cushion. "Forgive me, Angela, but I do…"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Another tap at his door made Jane roll of the couch from a deep sleep, and he lay on the floor of his office a moment, his heart pounding in startle. The knock came again, and he was suddenly wide awake and on his feet. He stumbled over the blanket he'd used and appeared in the doorway of his inner office. Teresa Lisbon was smiling and waving at him from the other side of the glass front door. He experienced a pleasant stirring of déjà vu_._

He smiled back, and went to the door to unlock it. She was wearing a form fitting black t-shirt, blue jeans, and running shoes, and with her dark hair slicked back into a neat ponytail, she looked about fifteen years old. She smelled of the same cherry vanilla he'd slept with all night, and being this close to the source made him feel warm all over. His grin widened.

"Good morning, Teresa. Need an extra dose of brain shrinking this week?"

She laughed, and nodded over her shoulder to where the tow truck was winching up her Mustang.

"Naw, AAA called me a half hour ago, the bastards, so I had to get out of bed early on a Saturday to meet them. I saw your car, so…" She paused, assessing his appearance with humor. "Did you _sleep_ here?"

Jane immediately became self-conscious. He'd been so surprised (and inordinately happy) to see her so soon, that he'd forgotten he must look a mess. He followed her eyes as they started with his wild bed (er, couch) head, his day old stubble, his unbuttoned vest hanging limply at his sides, his shirt hopelessly wrinkled and untucked, pants much the same, and he'd realized for some moments he was missing a sock.

Teresa, however, seemed more amused than bothered by his lack of decorum.

"Sometimes when I work late I end up on the couch," he explained. "Please excuse my appearance. Won't you come in?"

She hesitated, then her next words came out in an impulsive rush. "Have you eaten breakfast?"

His eyes lit up. Breakfast was his absolute favorite meal of the day.

"No," he replied.

"I know this great diner-" they both said at the same time.

Jane chuckled. "Well, come in and give me a minute to clean up, then _I'll _be the judge of this so-called _great diner_ you know of. How are the eggs?"

"Light and fluffy," she assured him, following him inside. "But I only like scrambled."

He held out a hand, indicating that she have a seat in the waiting room, and he went back into his office. "The real test of a great diner, Agent Lisbon, is the quality of their eggs, over easy," he called.

Then she heard the distant sound of door closing and water running. He must have a bathroom in there, she realized.

In less than ten minutes, he emerged, a new man. She'd heard the buzz of an electric razor, so he was clean shaven, wearing a completely new suit and shirt, his hair and face damp from a quick wetting. He even smelled good.

"Maybe you were a magician in the carnival," she commented, liking what she saw.

"Actually…" he began, then launched into the first of many of his highly entertaining tales of carnival life.

And she was right, Jane thought later. The eggs were spectacular.

**A/N: I hope you like the direction things are heading. I think they really are good for each other. Please log in and let me know if you agree. And happy Mentalist Sunday! I'm so excited I can hardly contain myself! I have very high expectations for this season, but somehow I think Bruno Heller will deliver. Look for a tag from me if I'm so inspired, and in the meantime, I posted Nerwen Aldarion's chapter 4 of "Double Talk" yesterday. Please check it out. It'll make the day go by much faster :).**

**P.S. No offense was meant to the good people of AAA. I'm actually a member, and they've always given me very good service ;)**


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Sorry it's taken so long to get back to this fic, but as you might have noticed, I've been working on two other projects this week, lol. Thanks as always for the lovely reviews. I hope you continue to enjoy this fic.

**Chapter 4**

"Tell me, Mr. Lewis, did you sexually molest your daughter?"

Sitting on the couch in John and Terry Lewis's upper class home, Teresa felt like melting into the floor.

"What did you say?" sputtered the middle-aged man. Beside him on the opposing damask settee, his wife gasped.

"Dr. Jane," growled Teresa, too far away on their couch to kick him. "I apologize," she rushed to say to the Lewis's. "He's just a consultant, as I said, and new at working with witnesses."

"It's a simple question," said Jane politely, picking up the cup of tea the maid had just filled. He met the forty-something woman's eyes and smiled his thanks. The woman looked quickly away, startled at his pleasant expression after the bombshell question he'd just dropped. She finished with her duties and high-tailed it out of the tension-filled room.

"The kidnapper is usually someone the child is close to, isn't that right, Agent Lisbon?"

"Yes," she said tightly.

"I'm fairly certain that you as Bethany's parents were the first to be investigated."

The couple looked at Teresa. She blushed. "Yes, I'm afraid that's standard procedure," she admitted. "But you were cleared," she reassured them, directing a warning glare at Jane.

"Then why are you back here asking insulting questions?" asked Mr. Lewis. "We thought you might have some news, or we certainly wouldn't have subjected ourselves to such insults."

"We've brought Dr. Jane in to hopefully garner some new insight. I'm afraid we've reached a dead—uh, a brick wall."

Jane smiled at her near slip, and Teresa was tempted to move closer to him so she could do much more than kick him.

Mrs. Lewis, a woman much younger than her husband, turned her face into Lewis's sleeve and cried softly.

"I didn't ask if you'd kidnapped her," said Jane pointedly. "I asked if you'd molested her." Mrs. Lewis wailed anew.

"I think it's time for you two to leave, Agent Lisbon," said Lewis, rising to his feet, wrapping his arm around his sobbing wife. "And don't come back unless you have a concrete lead about Bethany. Louisa," he roared, "show our guests to the door!"

The maid scurried in, pausing midway between the living room door and Jane and Teresa, who were standing as well.

"This way, please," she said, her accent heavy.

Jane and Teresa followed her to the door, stepping outside onto the front porch. Before Louisa could shut it behind them, Jane put his foot in the door and met her eyes.

"Thank you, Louisa," he said sincerely. He saw a hint of fear there, then she nodded and Jane removed his foot.

"What the hell good did that do?" asked Teresa, when they were back inside the company SUV. "We'll never be welcome there again!"

"The maid has Bethany stashed somewhere," said Jane calmly.

Teresa turned her head so fast Jane wondered idly if she'd have whiplash.

"What? We've already checked out all the employees that work at the Lewis house."

"Did you go to their homes?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact," she replied defensively. "Louisa was clean."

"How about the homes of their _relatives?_" asked Jane.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Jane, but we don't have the time or manpower to send someone to every relative of every suspect."

"But you should have with Louisa there. Didn't you see how frightened and tense she was?"

"Lewis is a blowhard," explained Teresa, starting the vehicle and pulling out through the gates at the end of the driveway. "I'd be tense to work for him too. Besides, she's still there working for him."

"She needs the job," said Jane. "She's left Bethany with someone she trusts. A mother, an aunt…"

"But why would she take her? She could see the girl every day."

"You saw how she reacted when I asked if Lewis had molested her…"

Teresa's eyes widened. "You think she took the girl away to protect her from her own father? There's no proof of that—you just have a hunch, at best."

"Get the addresses of all of Louisa's nearby relatives, and you'll find your proof, I guarantee it, and the sooner the better. As a matter of fact, I'd bet that right now Louisa is inside calling whomever has Bethany to check on her."

Teresa hesitated.

"You're wasting time," said Jane softly. "You have to trust me on this."

She met his eyes, and saw that for the first time since she'd met him, he seemed absolutely serious.

She drove a few moments in silence, then pulled her cell phone from her blazer jacket pocket and called Cho.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You sure you don't need backup?" asked Jane, looking a little nervously around the sketchy neighborhood in East Sacramento.

"We're just questioning them. If I see anything suspicious, we'll leave and call for the rest of the team and SacPD."

"Okay," he said mildly, "you're the expert."

"That's right. Now, let me do the talking, at least at first, all right? You piss someone off in this neighborhood, it won't be the maid escorting us out, got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said wryly.

She shot him a warning glance and knocked on the barred door.

A woman in her late thirties came to the door, but didn't open the barred glass that stood between them.

"Are you Maria Ramirez? Louisa's sister?"

"Who are you?" she asked.

Teresa held up her badge. "Teresa Lisbon, CBI. This is, uh, Dr. Jane."

"What do you want?"

"Ma'am, we need to ask you a few questions. May we come in?"

"You're the police?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"She's got a gun and everything," Jane added.

"Look we're not from immigration-this is about another matter. Now, you can invite us in, or we'll have SWAT knock down your door."

In that moment, Jane found Teresa almost unbearably sexy.

After another hesitation, the woman opened the door. Teresa and Jane followed her inside to a living room, shabby, though neat as a pin. On the floor by the couch were two small suitcases.

"Going somewhere?" Jane asked.

"May we sit?" asked Teresa, when Maria Ramirez didn't answer.

"I have to go to work in a few minutes."

"This won't take long. Where do you work?" asked Teresa.

"No, let me guess," said Jane. "You work at a daycare."

"Yes. How did you know that?"

"We did our research," said Teresa, barely succeeding in not rolling her eyes at Jane.

"Where's Bethany?" asked Jane suddenly. He'd seen how Maria was glancing toward the hallway nervously, and getting more and more agitated the longer they were there.

Maria's hesitation was just a beat too long to be innocent. "Who?"

Jane nodded his head toward the hallway. "She's down there," he told Lisbon.

"What?" Teresa's hand went to her sidearm, as she looked toward the hallway in alarm.

"She's down that hall, I'm telling you," he replied, agitated himself.

Something clicked deep within Teresa, something that made her trust him, almost blindly.

"Is Bethany here, Maria?"

The woman was shaking her head rapidly from side to side, wordless.

"I'm gonna have to ask you to lead me down the hall," said Teresa.

"No," she pleaded tearfully. "Don't take her back to that man."

"We'll do what's best for her, I promise. Now, lead the way."

Jane wasn't waiting. He moved quickly, albeit gracefully past the two women, feeling compelled to find this girl himself.

"Jane!" Teresa called, falling back on the CBI habit of referring to coworkers by their last names. She turned to Maria, pulling out her gun. "Go!"

At the end of the short hallway, a single door was open, and Maria and Jane followed him inside. He was kneeling on the floor beside a little girl, around three, who was playing with her Barbie dolls. Teresa recognized her from her picture immediately.

She pulled Maria out of the doorway, out of sight of the little girl who had been in her care for two weeks.

"You're under arrest," she said quietly, retrieving her handcuffs from her belt. She escorted Maria outside to the SUV, where she slid her into the backseat and locked her in to await backup. She looked up to see Jane on the other side of the barred door of the Ramirez home, holding Bethany's little hand, a brilliant smile upon his handsome face.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You did so many things wrong in there, that if we had any witnesses, this thing could get thrown out of court."

"Are you kidding me?" said Jane. "We got that little girl back. What else do you want?"

"There are certain procedures, protocols—"

"Meh, this is why there are so many missing children in the world."

"Now that's not fair. These laws were put here to protect people. My team and I do our very best."

Teresa pulled the SUV up in front of Jane's office, where she'd picked him up earlier that morning. She realized she might have sounded a bit too harsh, so she turned in her seat to look at him straight on.

"Dr. Jane, don't get me wrong. What you did back there, how you managed to figure out where Bethany was—that was brilliant, really. And I share in her parents' gratitude—"

"I don't want gratitude," he bit out coldly. "I want that bastard whose been molesting her to go to prison."

Lisbon sighed. "Bethany will be with Child Services until a full investigation can be completed. But to be honest, it'll be hard to take the word of a kidnapper."

"Jesus," he said, his hand sliding through his hair in frustration, "no wonder you feel like you need a shrink, having to deal with this kind of crap on a daily basis. Hell, I'd be drinking too."

She looked at him a moment, shocked at his hurtful words and his vehemence in saying them. He caught her expression, and his face softened.

"I'm sorry, Teresa. You're right—I'm being unfair, and maybe a little harsh."

"A little?" she said tightly. "Thanks for your help. The CBI greatly appreciates it."

She pointedly unlocked his door.

"You're mad," he said, uncharacteristically stating the obvious.

"Wow, you _are _good. If you'll excuse me, I have to get back to work."

"I said I was sorry. I got caught up in the drama of the situation. It infuriates me to see a child ill-treated. Forgive me…please?"

She made the mistake of looking at him again. A pleading Patrick Jane was almost as irresistible as a smiling, charming one. And then he reached over to touch her hand, which was gripping the steering wheel like a vise.

"I'll see you Friday for your session," he said hopefully.

She smirked involuntarily at his audacity. Before she could protest, or answer at all, for that matter, he'd gotten out of the vehicle, and with a sunny smile, waved before going to his door.

"Asshole," she said to herself as his blonde head disappeared inside his office. But she was smiling when she said it.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"So," said Jane, four days later. "How was the rest of your week?" He gave her a wide, knowing smile, noting that she really wasn't angry with him anymore.

Teresa sat in her usual spot on the couch, pillow protectively in her lap. "A pediatrician examined Bethany," she said gravely. "There is evidence of long-standing sexual abuse. It'll be difficult to prove it was Lewis though."

"Did his wife move out yet?" Jane asked, immediately sobered by her statement.

"Yeah—how did you know? She left so she could get Bethany back. She put a restraining order on her husband."

He nodded in satisfaction. "Good."

"You know," said Teresa tentatively, "law enforcement hires consultants all the time to give insight into cases. You're good at what you do. It's a gift. Could we call on you again sometime?"

"And what will Minelli think of that?"

She blushed. "I had to break down and tell him what happened, how you helped. The kidnapping was big news, as was our solving of the case. It was Minelli's idea to extend you the offer."

Jane's eyebrow shot up. "Not yours, eh?"

She blushed. "You're my psychologist," she said. "I think it would be too complicated to combine work with uh…_this_." She gestured helplessly at the room in general.

"Hmmm," he said. "You're probably right. Let's get back to work on you. How's the drinking been this week?"

Her eyes widened. "I haven't had a drink since last Friday at O'Malley's," she said in some surprise.

Jane smiled. "See? Something new came into your life, shook it up a bit. And you successfully tied up a case. You're not an alcoholic, Teresa, you've just had a case of ennui."

"Some_one_," she countered.

"Hm?"

"_Someone_ new came into my life." She looked him boldly in the eye, and he swallowed hard at her unmistakable admiration.

"It didn't have to be me," he said, forcing himself to keep a neutral expression. "It could have been anyone or anything new to spice things up a little. Now, it's your job to get out there and attract new people and experiences into your life. You have plans for tonight?"

_Now why did that sound like I was asking her out?_ he thought, struggling with his poker face.

"Well, actually, the guys wanted me to contact you and invite you to Luigi's to celebrate the closing of the Lewis case-they have great pizza. You game?"

He dropped the mask and looked at her honestly, no longer ignoring the hum of attraction between them.

"Do you really think that is a good idea, Teresa?"

"No," she said. "But I'm inviting you anyway. You wanted me to work on getting out of my comfort zone. Well, that's what I'm doing. Call it…extra credit homework."

He chuckled—he couldn't help it. "All right. But it's all in an effort to advance your therapy, agreed?"

She smirked. "Whatever you say, Dr. Jane."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Apparently, the guys had scored last-minute tickets to an Oakland A's game, so they barely had time to scarf down a couple slices, toast Jane with a beer, and head off to Oakland. They hadn't invited Lisbon because they knew she found baseball tedious. She was more of a football or basketball fan, or even hockey, so she had no hard feelings about being left in the lurch. Besides, with them gone, she was alone once more with Jane, and to her, that was infinitely more entertaining than any competitive sport.

"So tell, me, Dr. Jane, how do you usually spend _your _Friday nights?" She took a drink of her beer and grinned at his sudden tense expression.

"Wait—let me guess."

His face relaxed into his familiar grin.

"Okay, this should be interesting. Shoot."

She cocked her head a little, feeling the slow buzz of her third beer. She wasn't drunk, but the alcohol had certainly relaxed her, loosened her tongue.

"I've been working on a theory about you, Doctor. I think that you spend your Fridays doing paperwork, just like me."

"Well, you'd be wrong," he said. "I record all my notes and my secretary transcribes them. Closest thing to paperwork I do is signing bills and insurance forms. I despise paperwork."

"Well, you don't go out, that's for sure. You still wear your wedding ring, so I'm guessing you don't date much."

Jane peered down into the remnants of his first and only mug of beer. "True."

Lisbon grinned and tapped her temple. "See? I've been trained too—in criminal profiling. I might not be as intuitive as you, but I'm no slouch in understanding human behavior."

"I didn't think you were," said Jane. He looked into her bright eyes, at her flushed cheeks, and satisfied grin. She'd certainly pegged him. "I haven't dated anyone since my wife died," he admitted.

"No one?" She was genuinely surprised. _I mean, look at the man_, she thought.

"No. I haven't found anyone to compare to her, so what's the point? It's too much pressure to put on any woman, and I don't have the patience."

"I don't imagine anyone could ever replace her, Jane," she said sympathetically. "But you deserve some happiness, don't you?"

Her words reflected his thoughts of the other day, but he still was afraid to move on, that if he put himself out there, all he'd meet with was disappointment, not to mention, residual guilt.

"Someday," he replied cryptically. "Maybe."

"Physician," she chided, toasting him with her mug, "Heal thyself."

"Funny," said Jane, pushing his empty glass away.

"Not much for being psychoanalyzed, are you?"

"No, that's why I'm the _doctor_, not the patient. Speaking of which, have you been on the lookout for a man lately? I hear church is a great place to meet a partner with one's same values."

"Who are you, my Aunt Minnie? When have I had the time?"

"There have been two weekends since we started our sessions."

"Now you're my priest?"

"God forbid," quipped Jane.

She eyed him a moment. "Say, am I off the clock right now?"

Jane grinned, grabbing a cold slice of the leftover pizza. "Free advice," he said over a mouthful of pepperoni.

"Good," she said, "because I can only afford one more session."

He tossed his pizza back on his plate, his appetite gone. "What?"

"I'm not submitting any claims to CBI Insurance. I don't want anyone in the agency to find out I'm seeing a shrink. I've been paying in cash each time, didn't your secretary tell you?"

"No. She knows better than to bother me with such trifles."

Teresa laughed. "Of course not."

"We can work out a payment plan," said Jane, suddenly earnest, his hand atop hers on the table. "I really think you need another month, at least. Maybe six."

She felt a shiver from his touch and looked up into those beautiful, soulful eyes of his.

"Gee, thanks."

"We've only just scratched the surface," he continued. "I'd really like to delve further into your father issues. I'd like to know why you don't have any female friends, or where you see your life going—"

"I'm sorry you see me as such a basket case, Doctor, but I'm afraid I only budgeted for a month of Fridays, and that alone will take away most of my Christmas savings. One extra session and no dollies for my niece, Annabeth this year. Not to mention the fact that I need to buy a new car tomorrow."

"But—"

"You've helped me, Doctor, you really have. I've seen now that drinking is not an addiction for me, that I'm bored with my life, and that I need to start looking for more stable, long-term relationships. I'm practically cured." But her voice had a melancholy tone when she spoke of ending their patient-client relationship.

Jane felt an irrational wave of panic. One more session? One more week, then she'd be out of his life? But maybe this was for the best. She was a complication that he really didn't need right now. He wasn't ready for anything serious—not ready for _any_ kind of relationship, to tell the truth. But Teresa Lisbon was ready. So why did he feel an ache in his heart at the thought of never again seeing her dancing eyes or sweet dimples? Suddenly, he couldn't bear it.

"You ready to go?" he asked, raising his hand for the waitress to deliver their check. He fished out his wallet.

"I was thinking of having another beer," she protested, and it was also dawning on her that a week from now, he would be out of her life.

"Don't you think you've had enough? Moderation, my dear," he said, tossing a hundred-dollar bill on the table.

"I'm not drunk," she said.

"You're tipsy. Let me drive you home. How embarrassing would it be if you got pulled over, half-drunk in the company SUV? I'll call a cab from your place."

"But you're not authorized to drive that vehicle."

"Meh," he said, and dangled her key ring before her eyes. Somehow he'd picked her pocket without her even knowing it. Maybe she _was _drunk.

"Hey!"

He got up from his chair and headed toward the door. "You coming?" he asked, but he didn't even wait to see if she followed. Of course, she did.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Outside her apartment building, Jane pulled the vehicle into a parking space. He got out and walked around, fully intending to open the door for her like a gentleman. She beat him to it, hopping out on her own.

"See, this is why guys aren't banging down your door. You're way too independent, even for the modern male, and you carry a gun for God's sake. Very intimidating."

"More free advice?" she asked sarcastically.

"And you have a very sharp tongue," he added, with a disapproving tsk. "Will you allow me the honor of walking you to your door, without running the risk of further emasculation?"

"Knock yourself out," she said, but she found that her heart was racing. She should say good-bye now, not invite him to her apartment.

He followed her to her ground-floor unit, presenting her keys to her with a flourish in the dimness of the small security light.

"You're in for the night, I trust," he said, holding them just above her reach. "No going back out to find a bar, right?"

"Give me the damn keys, Jane," she said, leaving off the _Doctor_. He found he liked it. No one else in the world called him that.

He handed them to her somewhat reluctantly, but they slipped out of her grasp, both of them reaching for them at the same time, bumping head to head. They stood up again, groaning and laughing and holding their aching foreheads.

"I thought that only happened in bad movies," she said.

Once again, her laughter transformed her face, making her infinitely attractive. His smile froze in place before he dipped his head and found her mouth, forgetting all the reasons why this was a bad idea.

She gasped into the kiss, both for the sheer unexpectedness of it, and the shock of pleasure that shot through her body. He kissed her like a man inflamed, holding her so tightly that she could barely breathe, ravaging her mouth with a fire that left her burning and shivering at the same time. Her hands looped around his neck and she opened to his seeking tongue. Their mutual moans at the intimate touch hummed deliciously through them both, his hands moving to her waist, then lower, to her buttocks, pulling her closer to his desire. She pushed against him instinctively, and he groaned again.

Finally, he came to his senses a little, dragging his mouth away from her lips to pant into her neck.

"We…can't do…this," he said.

"No," she agreed, trembling so hard she was grateful he was holding onto her. "You're my…psychologist."

For a moment, all either of them heard was heavy breathing and pulses thrumming in their ears.

"I quit—" he said.

"You're fired—"she breathed.

There was a bark of mutual nervous laughter, before it was smothered by another frenzied kiss.

**A/N: Shall they go inside or stop before things get out of hand? I'm still contemplating that…you'll have to tell me what you think. Thanks for reading.**


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Wow! You guys must all be sex-starved lunatics out there! Just kidding. Thanks for all the encouragement to have them go inside and get right to it, lol. Yes, there were some cooler heads among you that encouraged them to maybe try dating first. Pshaw! I promised this fic would have some "M" rated stuff, and so it shall. So read on at your own risk, or pleasure, or whatever...

**Chapter 5**

"Keys," he said, the word garbled by her continuing kisses.

"Hmm?" she had pushed his back against her door, her hands sliding over his body, slipping beneath his vest. He was so beautiful, she wanted to touch and kiss every part of him.

"Teresa," he said, putting his hands on her upper arms and pushing her away slightly. "I don't want our first time to be on your doorstep. Maybe our second, or third perhaps—"

"Oh," she said on a laugh. "Don't move; I'll get them." She put a hand on his chest to keep him from going for the keys again at the same time. She didn't want a concussion to get in the way of what she very much wanted to do with him.

She bent down and picked up her keys, then stood and reached around his body for the doorknob, kissing him while she found the correct key by feel and slipped it into the keyhole. She turned the knob and pushed open the door, flipping on the switch that turned on a dim lamp, their mouths still fused together as she backed him inside.

Once in her apartment, it became like a race to see who could undress the other more quickly. They got in each other's way trying to unbutton shirts, desperate for bare skin, yet so drunk on each other's mouths that they paused frequently, kissing with a wild abandon of tongues and lips and mingled breaths. At last they stood in the middle of her living room, both naked from the waist up, shoes toed off, hearts pounding at dizzying speeds. Jane found her taut nipples with his fingers, while Teresa's hands slid up and down his back, making him shiver with need. He returned the favor, his lips at her earlobe, his warm breath making her go weak in the knees.

She found his belt at the same time he began kissing his way to her breasts and she had to stop in her quest when his hot mouth encircled one nipple. The feel of his soft curls against her bare breasts was nearly as unbearably sensual as what his lips and teeth were doing to her, and they both sank to their knees on the low-pile carpet, her hands in his glorious hair. Teresa found herself on her back, Jane swirling and suckling until she wanted to scream. She was in such a sexual fog that she barely registered that he'd removed her slacks until his deft fingers slipped inside her panties. A guttural moan escaped from her throat and echoed from Jane when he felt how slick she was with desire, and he ached to bury himself inside her lithe body. He forced himself to focus on _her_ first, however, remembering her past disappointments, determined to break that cycle once and for all.

Turns out, it was much easier than he'd anticipated. He divested her of her remaining garment, and then his fingers went unerringly to the right places, circling and massaging with his thumb, still teasing her breasts with his mouth while he slipped two fingers inside of her. After a few moments of this wonderful torture, he left a fiery trail of kisses down to her flat stomach, then lower, until his mouth joined his fingers at the very core of her body. Her hips bucked up at the first touch of his tongue, feather light but oh so intense. His curls tickled her inner thighs, setting them to trembling almost uncontrollably, his day's growth of stubble an erotic contrast to the softness of his lips.

"Oh…God…Jane…"

His mouth and fingers worked in tandem, increasing in speed and pressure until her fingers found his hair again, her head rolling from side to side on the soft carpeting as she guided him where she needed him most. Heat suffused her body in wave after wave, her limbs going numb and sparks of light flashing behind her tightly closed eyelids. Her orgasm slammed into her like a punch in the gut, tearing the breath from her in a long wail of release.

He held her body still beneath his mouth, lapping at her until she was pushing against him, begging him to stop before she fainted. Her body went limp and she felt the faint vibration of his soft chuckle of victory, before he kissed her intimately one last time and rolled onto his back beside her.

"My God," she said, "that was…"

"Just the beginning," he promised, turning his head to look at the picture she made in the mellow lamplight.

She met his eyes and smiled shyly, still in shock at what he had just done to her. His own smile was almost boyish in satisfaction. She shook her head at him in wonder. He could certainly be a cocky son-of-a-bitch, but she was by no means complaining—at this moment, he fully deserved to feel that way.

Teresa reached out for him, touching his side with her warm fingertips. He grabbed them and brought them to his lips in an oddly formal gesture, given their current state, and suddenly, excitement began building within her again at the course she was contemplating. She sat up on her knees beside him and reached again for his belt, unbuckling it while she watched his smooth chest begin to rise and fall rapidly once more. She unfastened the metal clasp of his dress slacks, then, eyes on his, grasped the zipper and pulled down, the smooth rasp loud in the quiet room. He lifted his hips to allow her to slide his pants down and pull them off at his feet, and then her hands found the burgeoning hardness within his boxer briefs.

It was his turn to gasp as she traced his length with a fingernail, the cotton fabric still between them. She smiled, enjoying the power she had over him. When she molded him with one small hand, he groaned and moved his hand down to guide hers, making her press harder against him. After a moment, she batted his hand away with a small laugh of her own, her fingers finding the waistband of his underwear. It was difficult removing the snug garment over his hardness, but with his help, soon they were both completely naked. She sat back and admired him for a moment, more beautiful than she had even imagined. Her hand alighted on his chest, fingernails gliding now over flat nipples, then following the hairy trail that led from his lower stomach to the fullness between his thighs.

Jane lay there and let her have her way with his body, deceptively relaxed beneath her exploratory touches, while inside he was trying to take measured breaths to control the very strong impulse to flip her on her back and find his release. She was cupping and caressing him now, and he tensed when at last she pushed her hair behind her ears and lowered her head. When she took him inside her tight little mouth, he about lost it.

"Jesus!" he exclaimed at the amazing sensation. He was helpless beneath her for a few breathless moments, before his hand reached down to grip her shoulder.

"Teresa," he said, "You've got to stop or I'm done for. It's been two years since…oh…God…stop!"

"Hmmm?" she hummed against him, eliciting a strangled moan.

"Please," he pleaded, and she raised her head, sensing the sheer desperation in his voice. It was an amazing feeling, seeing what she was doing to such a usually self-possessed man as Jane. She was tempted not to show him mercy, but a certain other part of her was selfish, wanting to know as soon as she could what it felt like to have him deep inside of her.

"Okay," she said, gently releasing him, but before he could relax, she crawled on top of him, pressing her body flush against his. She kissed him deeply and he rolled her onto her back.

"You sure I'm not your psychologist anymore," he asked breathlessly, poised above her. She looked up into his eyes, dark with passion and a spark of humor.

"I'm sure," she said, bending her knees to cradle him in her warmth. "I'd only let my shrink get inside my _head_…"

And then he joined with her body, their laughter mingling before dissolving into moans of pleasure…

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Eventually, they found Teresa's bed, where they made love again, the second time even more intense than the first. He'd guided her hips, feeling her shuddering around him each time her body lowered upon his. They set a less hurried pace, drawing from each other every strain of passion until she cried out, her release triggering his own.

They lay now on her bed where they'd fallen, spent for the moment, their bodies glistening with perspiration.

"What time is it?" she murmured, for he was closer to the bedside clock, and she would actually have to move to look at it.

"It's eleven-thirty," he told her, turning his head slightly to check. "Why? Afraid I'll turn into a pumpkin? Or are you kicking me out, Miss One-Night-Stand?"

She chuckled. "No and no. You, Dr. Jane, are the first man I've ever brought back here, so I guess you could say this does have sort of a surreal, fairy-tale like vibe."

"Hmm," he said. "That's interesting."

"Stop it," she chided lazily. "I revoked your permission to psychoanalyze me, remember?"

"Sorry. You can take the psychologist out of the office…"

He reached over to touch her hair, caressing her cheek too in the process. She preened beneath his hand, having the odd desire to purr.

"Besides," she continued, "it is equally interesting to me that _I _was the one to break your two-year celibacy."

"Yes…isn't it?"

She rolled over on her stomach to look at him in the light from the hallway, the sheet flung haphazardly over his lower body, one hand behind his head on the pillow, blonde curls a sexy mess. He looked like he could have graced the centerfold of _Playgirl_. She grinned.

"Why is that, do you suppose, Dr. Jane?"

"Aw, Teresa, I try never to psychoanalyze myself. Sort of like a carpenter whose house is always falling apart."

"You're not falling apart over _this_, are you?" she asked seriously. She touched his chest, then dropped a kiss on the skin just above his sheet.

He sighed. "You were the first woman I've been genuinely attracted to since my wife, Angela died. I _had _successfully blocked out the fact that I feel a little like I've cheated on her," he said wryly, "but now that you mention it, the guilt is settling in full strength."

"You're serious." Her eyes grew round.

"Yes. But this is something I have to deal with myself. It's got nothing to do with you. I will say, however, that this—_you_-were…a very pleasant surprise."

She was glad the light was dim, for her expression turned raw. "_Pleasant_," she repeated, trying out the word. It was much more than just _pleasant_ for her. She supposed that this was what Karma was, after she'd used and dropped all those men over the years. She remembered thinking from time to time that an encounter had been merely _pleasant._ How had they felt when she had brushed them off, when she hadn't returned their messages or forgot their names the moment she'd left their bed?

Her silence was very telling to Jane, and he rolled to his side to face her.

"Stop reading too much into this, my little detective. We wanted each other, so we acted on it. Hell, I _still_ want you, though I'm going to need to recover a bit before embarking upon round three. And I don't regret this, by the way—_any_ of it. Do you?"

"No," she answered immediately.

"This situation is new to both of us. It might take some time to sort it out. But I'm willing to try, if you are."

He waited a few heartbeats before she replied with a soft: "Yes."

They found their way into each other's arms again, Teresa holding him tightly against her. He felt so good, so right, that out of nowhere, her eyes watered. Despite how clearly he'd laid things out, she still felt confused and a bit fearful.

"One more question," she whispered, before she could let him sleep. "Can you recommend a good shrink…?"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sometime in the early morning hours, Teresa had awakened to the sensation of Jane caressing her, bringing her body once more to a fever pitch before he slid inside of her. He possessed her in a way no one else ever had before, wringing from them both, long, shuddering sighs and fervent cries of ecstasy.

She hated leaving him, but when her phone buzzed beneath her pillow, she saw with a sinking heart that it was the CBI. They'd caught a case. She answered the call in the living room, whispering so she wouldn't awaken Jane. She dressed hurriedly and left him a note, pausing a moment to look at him in the faint morning light that snuck beneath the window blinds.

_What the hell am I going to do about you?_ She asked herself. With a light kiss on his full lips, she left her apartment to catch a killer.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After a moment's disorientation, Jane realized that he was alone in Teresa Lisbon's apartment. He sensed her absence as surely as he would her presence, and he sighed, wondering if she'd panicked and fled until he gave up and left her apartment. But no, he saw the yellow slip of paper torn from a legal pad propped on the nightstand, and he was surprised at the relief he felt.

_Patrick (_he wondered how long she'd debated what to call him),

_Had a call from work. Eggs are in the fridge—make yourself at home. I'll call you later._

_Teresa_

_P.S. Had you just been a one-night-stand, I'd have left you cab fare…_

Jane grinned, loving her dry sense of humor. Loving everything about her, really, especially the way his body ached in places he had forgotten it could. Teresa was an incredible lover, and three rounds in one night had been a personal best for him.

He took a shower in her bathroom, inhaling her familiar cherry-vanilla bathwash, though opting for the Ivory soap, himself. He used her mouthwash in lieu of a toothbrush, but decided against her pink disposable razor. It was Saturday. He could skip a shave.

Dressed only in his slacks, he padded barefoot around her one-bedroom apartment, unashamedly snooping in her closet and medicine cabinet. She was taking birth control pills, he saw gratefully—something he hadn't quite thought through the night before. That had been rather uncharacteristic of him. Never in his life had he gone to bed with a woman unprepared, and he imagined she was normally just as conscientious as he was—he'd found the box of condoms in her nightstand. He shook his head to himself, feeling his face flush slightly when he saw his shoes and socks and the rest of his clothes lying willy-nilly where he'd left them in the living room alongside Teresa's. It had been good between them—maybe, if he were honest with himself, even better than it had been with his wife.

He helped himself to scrambled eggs, toast and the last of her orange juice. Sipping the tea made from her limited selection of herbals, he looked around her simple apartment. It was functional, and about as aesthetically pleasing as the extended stay motel room he stayed in. He doubted she was at home much; another thing they had in common. His room was just a place to keep his stuff, bathe, and sleep occasionally. With no one to come home to, no one to care about his comings and goings, what was the point in hanging out there?

They were quite a pair, he and Teresa. Both damaged goods. He'd actually lied to her earlier. He'd psychoanalyzed himself nearly to the point of developing a psychosis about it. It was like being in therapy twenty-four hours a day, and it was downright exhausting. He knew _how_ he thought, why _he _thought it, and what steps he could take to get over his grief and guilt. But at the same time he was also the worst kind of patient—one who simply wouldn't follow his shrink's good advice.

Jane recognized his pang of guilt after sleeping with Teresa for what it was—he'd actually made steps to let go of the past. He was tired of being alone, tired of punishing himself for what he had done, or had _not _done. It certainly wouldn't bring his family back, but for the past two years, he had suffered in a self-imposed prison. He wanted more than anything to break free, but he wasn't sure if he deserved it. Were he dealing with a patient with this problem, he would have told him to get back out there, try dating, find a distracting hobby-all the things he'd told Teresa. He certainly appreciated the irony.

He finished his tea and washed and dried his few dishes, putting them back neatly into her sparse cabinets. He walked around her apartment once more, committing it to memory. He made the bed, then returned to the living room for the rest of his clothes. He realized he was just postponing the inevitable. Teresa wasn't coming home anytime soon, and he had no reason to stay at her apartment.

_How pathetic am I?_

The truth was, he'd been alone for two years, and he didn't want to be alone anymore. Whether he deserved it or not, he was going to make himself do the hard work he always encouraged his clients to do.

In the back of the cab, he took a deep breath and pulled out his cell phone to call Virgil Minelli at the CBI. He wondered if he could somehow finagle his way onto Teresa's new case, take on Minelli's offer as an excuse to be close to her and see where this could all lead.

But as the cab drove through an intersection, the phone suddenly flew from his hands, and then everything went black.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Teresa had called Jane several times. The murdered woman had been a Jane Doe, and she thought Jane might be able to give his special insight to help identify her. But he hadn't answered, and she'd left a voice mail. It was Saturday—his day off—he likely had errands to attend to. He was too busy to pick up. Or maybe his phone battery had run down; he hadn't been home the night before to recharge it. She blushed in remembrance of how great it had been with him, how he'd fulfilled her more completely (three times!) than any man she'd ever known. But it had been more than just good sex. She'd connected with him emotionally too, and she wanted to see where this could go with him. Sure, they both had their problems, but she'd been seeing a pretty good shrink lately…

"Hey, Boss," called Cho from near the coroner's van.

She heaved a small sigh and pocketed her phone. She would take her psychologist's advice, take a leap of faith, trust that what she'd been feeling with Jane was real. He'd told her he'd be willing to try. If he still felt that way in the light of day, well, he'd call her back, wouldn't he?

**A/N: Yes, a cliffie, folks. I have to have at least one in every fic, don't I? Thanks for reading. And please, take a leap of faith yourself, get an account here, log in, and leave a review! I know I'm a bit behind in replies, but I promise to catch up within the next few days.**

**Also, please forgive the delay in Nerwen's next chapter of "Double Talk." (If you're not reading it, go now!) Things are pretty busy with her right now. I'm sure it will be worth the wait! Follow us on Twitter for updates. And please, be on the lookout for a tag from me for tonight's episode, if I am so inspired... **


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Sorry to have left you with a cliffie last time, but I'm back more quickly than usual with another chapter, so I hope that makes up for it. Thanks for the great reviews. I won't keep you waiting any longer…

**Chapter 6**

Jane didn't call Teresa back that Saturday. Or Sunday. Or even Monday. She and the team had managed to get a lucky break and solve the case without him, but that wasn't what bothered her. She had had a wonderful night with him, and he'd given her every reason to hope, to trust, and yet…here she was, waiting by the phone like the pathetic jilted lover she'd tried her whole life to avoid. Jilt them first, before they could break your heart—that had been her motto. Well, she wasn't going to beg, especially not a psychologist, who would see her for the pathetic head case she'd become.

So, she threw herself into work, managed not to cry until she left her office at the ungodly hour of nine. She drank alone at an out-of-the-way bar where no one would know her, shot after shot of tequila. She didn't want to spend another night at home with all the reminders of Jane. She hadn't even changed the sheets because they still smelled like him. She came to work Tuesday, hung over for the first time in her career. She didn't remember how she'd gotten home the night before, and this above everything frightened her the most. She was glad she had a splitting headache to remind her not to be so stupid this night.

After work, she made herself leave at the more reasonable hour of five, before her team had even left. She knew she wouldn't be able to focus on paperwork, and with no case to occupy her, she felt a little stir crazy. She didn't stop at a bar, but she did do something just as self-destructive—she drove by Jane's office. His car was there. She hesitated, the motor of her borrowed SUV still running.

"Asshole," she said aloud, this time not affectionately. It would serve him right if she marched in there and said it to his face. Well, she deserved an explanation, she told herself, but there would definitely be no begging involved. She parked the SUV and got out, but as she got closer to the door, she saw there was a sign attached to the inside.

_Closed until further notice. We apologize for the inconvenience. Please call for additional information and updates. 916-555-1342._

Teresa peered in through the glass door, but it was completely dark inside. She pounded on it anyway.

"Jane! I know you're in there—your car's still here. Open the goddamn door and talk to me like a man!"

She repeated the action twice more, but no one came. She leaned her forehead on the cool glass and took a few deep breaths, willing the tears of frustration not to come.

She should have known better than to trust him. He was just as damaged as she was—how in the hell did she expect him to handle relationships any better than she did?

On impulse, she dialed the number on the notice, and she heard the phone ring inside the office. An answering machine picked up. She recognized the voice of the message as that of Jane's secretary.

"We're sorry, but our office is currently closed until further notice, due to unexpected illness. Please check back here in a few days for updates, and we will reschedule appointments when possible. If this is an emergency, please call 911."

"_Unexpected illness?" _she said aloud. Her heart skipped a beat. She waited for the beep and left a message.

"Hi, this is Agent Teresa Lisbon from the CBI. It's imperative I get hold of Dr. Jane. Uh…it's state police business. Call me at 916-555-2315 as soon as possible. Thanks."

Her next call was to Cho. She hoped he was still at HQ.

"Cho, check area hospitals to see if Patrick Jane has been admitted to any of them."

"Jane? What happened?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure if he's even in the hospital. Something's wrong though, and I'm not sure he has any family in the area."

"Will do, Boss."  
"Thanks."

Teresa got back in her car and at first drove around aimlessly, waiting for Cho's call. She decided to head for the nearest hospital in hopes that if he was hospitalized, he'd be at the one closest to his work or motel, which she assumed were in close proximity to each other.

A strange kind of hope welled within her. On one hand, she was inordinately worried that something might be terribly wrong with him, but on the other, his not returning her calls was likely for a legitimate reason, having nothing to do with his feelings for her. It was a shameful desire, to almost _want_ him to be sick.

The ringing of her cell phone made her jump, and she picked it up from the center console.

"Cho, what'd you find out?"

"He's at Mercy General," he told her. "Room 543."

Her speculation had been correct, and she pressed down on the gas pedal, continuing on the same course.

"Any indication what's wrong?" she asked, heart picking up speed.

"Car accident. Two fatalities, but I don't know who."

"Jane's all right, though?" she asked, her voice slightly unsteady, despite her best efforts to sound calm and professional.

"They won't tell me anything other than he's stable."

"I'm heading there now. Thanks, Cho."

"Sure thing," he replied, and she disconnected their call.

After flashing her CBI badge at the fifth floor nurse's desk of Mercy General, she'd been told Jane had had surgery on his right leg and had a few cracked ribs. He'd been on some heavy pain meds since the surgery, so he'd been unable to speak very coherently. It was only through his wallet that they'd been able to find out who he was.

She'd easily found Jane's hospital room down the hall, but she hesitated just outside. She had to mentally prepare herself for what she might see—she'd seen plenty of car accident victims in the past, and knew how terrible he might appear. She made herself enter the private room. Her breath caught at the sight of him, his pale face and hair fading into the whiteness of the pillow beneath his head. One leg was propped up on pillows, and although he was hooked up to machines and an IV drip, he seemed to be breathing fine on his own. He didn't look too bad, either—just a nasty bruise on his right cheek. She took the chair from against the wall and moved it so she could sit close to the left side of his bed.

She reached beneath the blankets covering him to his neck to find his hand. It was warm, and she held it gently.

"Jane?" she said softly. "It's me-Teresa. Can you hear me?"

There was no reply, and another nurse came in at that moment to change his IV bag.

"Keep talking to him" the nurse encouraged her. "You're only the second visitor he's had. The first was his secretary, I believe, but she seemed more concerned with whether she was going to get a paycheck this week."

Teresa frowned. "You couldn't find any family or friends?"

She shook her head sadly. "No, which is very surprising. He's such a handsome man too, and he still had his wedding ring on…"

"His wife is dead," Teresa said softly.

"Oh. Well I hope _you're_ Teresa then."

"What? How did you know that?"

"He's been murmuring your name from time to time. We all assumed it was his wife."

Teresa looked at Jane again, sudden tears misting her eyes. She squeezed Jane's hand, and a wave of something she was afraid to identify washed over her.

The nurse smiled gently at Teresa's expression. "Now you're here, I'll ask the doctor if we can ease off his meds a bit."

When the nurse finished her task and left them, Teresa leaned forward to kiss his uninjured cheek. It was stubbly and cool from the hospital air.

"Well, this is the best excuse for a blow-off that I've ever seen," she whispered with a small smile, brushing the curls back from his forehead. She kissed him again and sat back in the chair, her hand still grasping his.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane awoke to the smell of coffee, his eyelids so heavy he couldn't lift them at first. He felt stiff and heavy all over, and an involuntary hoarse moan emitted from his dry throat.

Immediately, a small warm hand settled on his cheek, and the aroma of coffee grew more intense.

"Hey," said a familiar voice. "Wake up, sleepyhead."

"Teresa," he croaked weakly, and a smile stretched across his face even before he could open his eyes. He found the sudden strength then to open them, and his vision, at first blurry, cleared enough to focus on her lovely, concerned face.

"Hi," he said.

Her grin exceeded his in gratitude. "Hi, yourself. How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been hit by a truck."

She winced. "Close. You were in a car accident. You remember being in the taxi?"

It began seeping back into his brain. He'd been on his way to his motel room in a cab. He'd just taken out his phone to call the CBI, then _wham! _ Something had hit his side of the car, and he was suffused with a pain so sudden and intense that he'd blacked out. That's all he could remember, except for a few strange dreams, many of them including the woman looking at him now with a furrowed brow.

"I remember," he managed.

She moved to set down her coffee, and it was then that he saw that his right leg was propped up on pillows, and it felt distinctly numb. His eyes widened in surprise. Teresa sat down beside him and reached beneath his covers for his hand. He grasped hers with newfound vigor.

"You'll be all right," she told him. "You fractured your femur and had to have surgery. The doctor said you'll be good as new in a few months."

He nodded, relieved that the numbness he felt wasn't due to a spinal injury.

"We weren't supposed to meet at the top of the Empire State Building or anything, were we?" he asked, a bit of the familiar sparkle returning to his eyes.

She laughed, and he could feel the tension releasing from her body. Then her soft lips were briefly on his, and he inhaled, taking in her cherry blossom fragrance. His left hand came up to touch the ends of her rich hair, but he found he was too weak to hold it up for long.

"Thirsty," he said, his mouth and lips parched. She went to the sink in the small hospital room and filled up a tankard with water, adjusting the lid and straw as she returned to his side. He took a sip, and it was the most wonderful drink of water he'd ever tasted. He drank for what seemed like forever.

"Easy, there," she cautioned. "I'm not sure if you should drink that much so soon."

He let loose of the straw and she put the cup on the tray beside his bed.

"I should let the nurses know you're awake."

He squeezed her hand. "No-wait. How long have I been in here?"

"Nearly five days," she told him.

"Damn."

"Yeah."

"And you've been here all this time?" The vision of her here, by his side for days gave him a warm glow inside.

A shadow crossed her features, a flash of anguish that didn't register at first.

"No," she said quietly. "I just found out a few hours ago. Who would have thought to call me?"

He might still be a little groggy, but he could tell that she must have thought the worst of him. Four days with no contact after the incredible night they'd spent together? The psychologist in him wondered vaguely how she'd handled it.

"_I_ called," he told her. "That's what I was doing right before the accident."

She tried not to look too thrilled, given his current state. "You did?"

"Yeah."

Despite her best efforts, her dimples made a brief appearance, and he was glad he'd told her. Other questions occurred to him, but he was prevented from asking them as Teresa pressed the call button for the nurse.

Later, after his first food in days (Teresa fed him broth and Jell-O with a spoon), she was still sitting beside him after he'd dozed awhile. He looked at her beneath his lashes. She was reading some spy novel, which for some reason made him smile.

"Hey," he said. "Shouldn't you be at work, protecting and serving or something?"

She smiled and set down her book. "I took a few days off," she told him. "Someone needs to protect and serve _you_ for awhile."

Her simple words—a joke, really—touched him so much that he closed his eyes so she wouldn't see just how much they had affected him. He hadn't allowed anyone to care for him for two years, and he'd forgotten until that moment how good it felt. His eyes watered, and he was unusually embarrassed. It must be the meds.

"Are you okay?" she asked, reading rightly his sudden emotion.

He opened his eyes, letting her see his gratitude. "Thank you," he told her, his other questions forgotten. He held out his hand and she took it without hesitation. She bent to kiss his cheek.

"You're welcome."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The rest of the day and the day after passed in a similar daze of pain medication, broth, Jell-O, and Teresa. On his request, she restarted the book she'd been reading from the beginning, reading aloud to him despite his occasional scoffing at the lack of imagination of the lead character. Three chapters in, he'd predicted the ending, and she'd snapped the book closed in a huff.

"Remind me never to read a mystery to you again," she said. "I was halfway through, and I hadn't figured anything out."

"Sorry. But you really should expand your horizons a bit, Teresa. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Dashiell Hammett…"

"Why, so you could ruin those for me too?"

He shrugged, the head of his bed now at a comfortable angle for talkin. That afternoon, the nurse promised him a trip to the bathroom with the same enthusiasm others would have for a visit to Disneyland. He'd grumbled as much beneath his breath.

"You really need to be nicer to the nurses," Teresa cautioned him when she'd left. "They're in charge of your care, you know."

"You think they'll spit in my food or something?" he asked grumpily. "Not that I'd be able to tell the difference with this swill they've been feeding me."

"You can have solid food tomorrow. You've been fed through an IV for four days. There's such a thing as too much too fast."

He reached for her hand, bringing it to his lips with a seductive smile. "That isn't the impression I got the other night."

She flushed. "Stop," she said, looking around to see if he'd been overheard.

He chuckled. "You're beautiful when you blush, especially when you're naked, and I can see how it starts in your face and spreads to your—"

She shushed him with a kiss, and, despite his pain and the inappropriate setting, they both put their full and grateful hearts into it.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

At Jane's urging, Teresa went home that night to try to get a bit of sleep. She was reluctant to leave him, but he insisted, pointing out he was in the safest place possible (though it smelled of disinfectant and death). The next morning, she was at first taken aback to find his bed empty, but heard the shower going in the bathroom. She'd taken his key and brought a few personal items from his motel room.

She knocked on the bathroom door.

"I'm back, Jane," she called. "You need any help in there?"

There was a brief hesitation, then, "Yes. Would you mind coming in here a minute?"

She set his overnight bag down and opened the door. In the open shower, he sat naked on a shower bench, holding the hand-held shower head. His injured leg was bandaged with a waterproof dressing, the rest of his leg black and blue to match the right side of his torso, which seemed to be one big bruise. Despite that, she couldn't help but marvel at his beauty.

"What is it?" she asked him. He didn't seem to be in any trouble, and the cord to pull for the nurse was within easy reach. A wheelchair was pushed out of the way of the spray.

Jane turned off the shower, his hair dripping wet and slicked back from his face.

"Cho and Rigsby were here earlier," he said dully. "They told me details about the accident."

She handed him a towel, her mind going blank. She hadn't wanted to tell him what had happened, wanting to spare him more pain as long as she could.

"Oh," she said. "I'm sorry. I wanted you to hear it from me, but I thought it could wait until you were a little better."

In truth, she was afraid of what the truth might do to him.

"The cab driver died at the scene of the accident."

"Yes," she confirmed, stiffening as she waited for the other shoe to drop.

"The other driver was a young—a girl of—of sixteen. She ran the stoplight." His voice had hitched in his throat over this announcement, and she wondered now whether it was tears or water dripping down his face.

"The cabbie wasn't wearing his seatbelt," she added. "The girl—she was texting and driving. There is no way you can blame yourself for this."

He put the towel to his eyes, ostensibly to dry the water off his face, but she was beginning to see that he was even more upset than he'd initially seemed. He removed the towel and let out a humorless bark of laughter.

"I'm a huge fan of irony, Teresa, but this sort of takes the cake, don't you think? The second accident in two years I've been in, where everyone dies but me. I mean, what are the odds? I feel like a goddamn cockroach."

She took another towel from the rack and went to him, draping it over the chilling skin of his shoulders. She squatted by him in the draining water. Her hands went to his damp face, trying to be gentle with his injuries, but finding herself too impassioned to show much restraint.

"You listen to me, Patrick Jane. I don't know why this has happened to you again, but one thing is sure to me. God has saved you for a reason. He has plans for you, a purpose that you might not be able to see yet, but I know He will make it clear in time. Right now, you can't allow this to make you bitter. You have to be grateful-"

His hands came up to grab her wrists. "Why? What the hell do I have to be grateful for? I'm nothing but a hypocrite, Teresa, a washed out shrink who hates what he does, hates to sit day after day listening to everyone else's troubles, when all I want to do is berate them, tell them they are only unhappy because they got _themselves _into whatever pathetic predicament they're in."

"Does that include me?" she asked tightly.

He took not of her stricken face, and his voice softened.

"No. No, of course not. But how can I pretend to have sympathy for my clients when I can find none for myself? I wish I had died too when that drunk killed my family. Then, I wouldn't have been in that cab five days ago, and those two people would still be alive."

Teresa slowly removed her hands from his cheeks and stepped back.

"No sympathy for yourself, eh? That's funny, you sound awfully sorry for yourself to me. I can't tell you why you've managed to survive, but I for one am happy that you did. I—I think you were sent to me to pull me out of the pit I had fallen into. You've helped me, given me new hope for my life. I'm not going to stand here and watch you wallow in the _why-me's_ and the self-pity. My father did that to himself for most of his life, and look how he ended up. You've been given the gift of life for a third time, you idiot—don't throw it away."

With that, she strode to the door and left him there, wet, cold, and miserable.

**A/N: Okay, a few things. First, yes, another cliffie of sorts, but you know things always work out in the end of my fics, so don't worry. Second, I'm not a doctor or nurse, so if anything was inaccurate in the hospital, please pretend it was, for the sake of the story, okay? Third, yes the angst level is a little high here, but see my first thing, above. And fourth, thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it enough to review.**


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Thanks so much for all the great reviews for chapter 7. I've been on Fall Break this week, so away from high speed internet and my efficient ability to respond to reviews. I'll try to catch up next week. But on the bright side, I've had time to write another chapter sooner than usual. Enjoy!

**Chapter 7**

Teresa had gotten all the way to the hospital lobby before she stopped. She stood there, in the midst of the annoying musak piped low through invisible speakers, her hand on her forehead, eyes closed tightly with frustration. She vaguely sensed people brushing past her, some directing looks of annoyance as she stood in their way.

"Dammit, Jane," she muttered.

She'd spoken the truth about her father, how he'd blamed himself the rest of his life after his wife died. He'd turned to drink to help dull the pain, and apparently Jane had been turning to isolation and loneliness to keep himself numb against the world, psychology to keep his mind on other people's problems. The question now was, did she want to watch another man she cared about ruin his life with guilt and self-pity? And how long before he started taking things out on her, like her father had her and her brothers?

Teresa looked heavenward, as if she could see five floors up to where she'd left Jane, pathetic and alone, like he'd apparently wanted it. She was the worst kind of hypocrite, she realized. She'd done the same damn thing to herself—isolation, self-pity, and worse—a reliance on alcohol and meaningless sex in an attempt to hide from her pain.

And then she'd found Jane.

He'd given her the kick in the pants she'd needed to start living her life outside of her self-imposed prison, and he'd also put himself out there to do it. Until this accident had set him back, he'd been on the road to emotional freedom himself. If she gave up on him now, what would become of this wonderful, beautiful, damaged man? She imagined meeting him by chance some ten years from now, a man consumed by bitterness, old before his time, his million-watt smile a dim memory. He would struggle to remember her name. Or maybe, long before that, she'd see his brief obituary in the paper (composed by an uncaring secretary_): Patrick Jane. 1969-2010. Local psychologist. No surviving relatives._

She clutched her heart as she felt it squeeze in fear for him.

_And what will have become of me? _

She'd turned to alcohol almost immediately when she'd thought Jane had dumped her. Is that where she would turn now, without him? She couldn't see herself stepping out into the dating world again, not after having spent one night in Patrick Jane's arms. She'd become a hardened, workaholic cop—she'd certainly seen plenty of those—using a bottle to try to forget all that she'd lost.

"We need each other," she whispered, the truth dawning on her.

In just the few weeks they'd known each other, their lives had both improved, they'd both made vows to move on from the past. Some might call it an unhealthy dependency, to need another person so much, to rely on someone else to ensure one's happiness, but the alternative seemed much unhealthier, for both of them.

"Are you all right, dear?" asked a kindly hospital volunteer.

She must have looked strange, standing in the middle of the lobby like a stone in a river. She blushed in embarrassment.

"Oh, yes. Sorry. I was just lost in thought."

The elderly lady patted her arm knowingly. "He must be something to keep you so focused like that."

Teresa smiled. "Yeah," she said dryly. "He's something all right. Excuse me."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

A male nurse was just settling Jane back in his bed when Teresa returned. Jane looked up at her, a wary, distant look in his eyes.

The nurse did a few more things to see to Jane's comfort, reattached his blood pressure cuff and heart monitor, and promised breakfast would be coming soon.

"Okay, Dr. Jane, you're all set," he nurse. "No more IV, so call me if you're having too much pain."

"Thanks," said Jane absently.

When they were alone, he looked at Teresa expectantly.

"Did you forget something?" he asked blandly.

"To apologize," she said. "I was needlessly…harsh."

"Not _needlessly,_ Teresa," he said. "Everything you said was true. Given your personal history, I don't blame you for running out. I'm more surprised that you're back."

She sighed heavily and moved to stand beside his bed. "I'm not going to leave you alone in this. As a matter of fact, when you are ready to be discharged, I want you to stay with me until you're back on your feet."

He raised an eyebrow. "That's unnecessary. I'll hire a nurse to come in to my motel room. I don't need your pity or guilt—apparently I have enough for myself these days."

She stared at him for a moment. "You're an asshole."

His grin didn't reach his eyes. "Guilty as charged, Agent Lisbon."

"Well, be that as it may, I have a lot of vacation time built up, and I'm going to take it to help take care of you. You helped me, so now it's my turn."

"You were paying me to help you," he said cruelly. "There's a difference."

She shrugged, not taking the bait. She'd made up her mind to ignore any bitterness or self pity. "Well, you can pay me if you like, but either way, I'm giving you no choice about going home with me. If you're worried about my qualifications, my mother was a nurse—I know all about hospital corners and bedpans. I can even give excellent sponge baths."

His lips quirked, and the usual sexual awareness crackled in the air between them.

"Fine," he relented. "But don't think I don't know what you're doing. You think that you'll be some sort of shrink-whisperer, that you'll soothe me into a miraculous personal revelation of inner peace."

"I wouldn't dream of it," she said, but he recognized sarcasm when he heard it, and it somehow warmed him inside.

She went to his overnight bag she'd brought earlier, fishing around its contents until she found what she was looking for. She made herself comfortable in the chair beside his bed and opened the book to the first page. After clearing her throat dramatically, she began to read:

"_Chapter One_. _Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who was usually very late in the mornings, save upon those not infrequent occasions when he was up all night, was seated at the breakfast table…_"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Three days later, Jane hopped slowly and painfully on crutches into Teresa's apartment. His ribs hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. She carried his bag for him and led him to her bedroom.

"You'll sleep here, and I'll take the couch."

"No, that's not necessary. I'm not so much an invalid that I would displace a lady from her bed."

"Well, the bed is higher, so it will be easier to get up and down from it. It's the logical thing to do. I figured you'd be all about the logic."

He rolled his eyes, then he surprised her by saying: "We could share the bed. That would actually be the most logical choice."

Since their confrontation in the hospital bathroom, they'd maintained a cordial distance. Jane still seemed hurt by her words, still was understandably depressed about the accident, and they hadn't touched or fallen into their usual teasing banter. She knew it would take time for both of them to reach their former comfort level with each other, their depth of intimacy, emotional or physical. Her entire being longed to take him up on his suggestion, but she had the feeling that they'd already put the cart before the horse once before by sleeping together so soon in their relationship. Not that she regretted one of the most erotic nights of her life…

"I don't think that's a good idea," she found herself saying. "I wouldn't want to accidentally kick or bump your bum leg."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself. Thanks for letting me borrow your bed. If you change your mind…"

She nodded once. "Good to know."

She set his bag at the foot of the bed. "Anything else I can do for you?"

"No, thank you."

"All right, I'll be in the other room. Let me know when you get hungry for dinner. I'm not much of a cook, but I know how to order Chinese food or pizza like a pro."

He frowned, suddenly feeling tired of their mutual civility. He liked it much better when they were bandying words about or even angrily hurling harsh ones.

"Look, Teresa," he began, standing on his crutches beside the bed where they'd made love little more than a week before. "I really do appreciate this. I know I'm not in the best frame of mind these days…"

"It's okay. You're entitled a little leeway. But I'm warning you, this is a pity-free zone. Your physical therapist will start coming tomorrow—you can work out your frustrations with him."

"You're going to love hearing me yell in pain, aren't you?"

"Yes," she teased. "I'm really looking forward to it."

He gave her his first genuine smile in days, and for Teresa, it was like a gift. She smiled back—she was helpless not to.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Teresa had left the bedroom door slightly ajar so she could hear him in the night should he call, so Jane awoke the next morning to the hushed tones of Teresa on the phone in the kitchen.

"I'm sorry I'm taking off in the middle of a case, Boss, but he has no one else," she was saying. "Cho, Rigsby and Hannigan are perfectly capable of handling things, sir. They're welcome to call and run things by me anytime. And I have Jane here. He might have some insight."

There was a pause as Minelli replied, and he could imagine her stance as she listened—head down, one delicate hand on her forehead or pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Okay. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Bye."

The call ended, but he heard her mutter "Shit!" beneath her breath.

He'd been afraid his staying with Teresa would be an inconvenience for her, but she'd been stubbornly insistent. It was like she'd taken him on as her personal project. It would be easy to resent her, if she weren't so damn beautiful while she was doing it. And despite his previous anger, he was still touched by her concern.

He heard her tiptoe by his door, then stand there a moment, listening.

"I'm awake," he called.

Her face appeared in the crack of the doorway.

"Good morning," she said with a smile. "You hungry?"

"Famished," he said.

"Well, I shall attempt to make eggs for you. Would you like toast and juice?"

"Please. And tea, if it's not too much trouble."

"Not at all. I took your tea from your motel room."

"Great."

"I couldn't find any gunpowder though," she said with a grin of remembrance.

"I only keep that at the office, for my law enforcement patients."

Both their expressions had softened at the memory of the first time they'd had tea together.

"Earl Grey will be fine," he finished.

"Coming right up. Need any help getting to the bathroom? I got one of those bench things for the shower…"

"No, thank you. But I uh, may need help getting undressed and dressed."

"Oh," she said, blushing. "Of course."

He'd come to her home yesterday already wearing his pajama bottoms that the nurse at the hospital had helped him into. It would be a lesson in pain and suffering with all the maneuvering and struggling it would take to do it on his own. He was grateful for her help, and he was oddly looking forward to it.

She moved to the bed and with his nod, drew back the covers. He tried to suppress a grin when she noticed his bare chest and his body's usual morning salutation. She closed her eyes like a virgin and suddenly her warm hands were at the waistband of his pajama bottoms. She pulled them down slowly, having to move her hands beneath his buttocks to slide down the garment. He gasped twice—both when she pulled the bottoms over his full groin, then over his injured leg.

"Sorry," she exclaimed, both times.

Bottoms off, she realized that he wasn't wearing his boxer shorts. Her face became the shade of fine merlot. He was breathing hard and perspiration had gathered on his chest and forehead at the exertion as well as the excitement of her touch.

"Maybe you should wear a hospital gown or something until you're healed a bit more."

She got his robe from where she'd laid it on a nearby chair and draped it over his shoulders to help cover his nakedness.

"Uh…maybe…you're…right…"

He sat on the bed and rested a few moments while she stood by patiently.

"You sure you don't want a sponge bath?" she asked seriously.

He laughed wryly, knowing the tension she would build into his body from her bathing him would be torture in all kinds of ways. "No. Thanks. I mean, I'll be fine. Just let me catch my breath."

"Okay."

After a few moments, he looked up at her, at how adorable she was, her soft features contorted in concern. For _him_. He was struck anew at how good it felt to have someone worrying about him.

"All right. Hand me my crutches, please."

She did, and helped him stand on one foot, quickly placing the crutches in his armpits.

"We should have brought that wheelchair home," she said. "You're going to kill yourself on these things."

"I don't want everything to atrophy while I'm sitting or lying down all day. I'll be fine."

Nevertheless, she followed him closely to the bathroom. Inside the small room, she hesitated. "You want me to help you into the shower?"

It was a walk-in stall, so he didn't have to step over a bathtub rim, thank God. He nodded for her help. She'd set the waterproof shower bench inside the cubicle, and she removed his robe, then helped him lower his buttocks to the bench. Taking his crutches, she examined him critically. He looked none the worse for wear, and the bandage on his leg was still intact. The doctor had said she should change it the next day. Her eyes travelled up to his torso, lingering on the bruises there before meeting his amused gaze.

"Is everything in order, Nurse Lisbon?"

She turned her back abruptly away and focused on the water spigots.

"Be careful," she muttered, "or I'll give you a _cold_ shower."

His eyes went to his crotch, and he quietly wondered if that might not be such a bad idea.

"Yes, ma'am."

She got the water warm before directing the showerhead spray toward him, then, handing him a washcloth and a bar of soap, she left him to his morning ablutions.

"Call me when you're ready to get out," she told him, closing the glass shower door.

"Aren't you going to wash my back?" he couldn't resist asking.

"I have every faith in your abilities," she said, but she was smiling as she left the bathroom.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

That afternoon, Jane's physical therapist arrived. Turns out, it was not the burly, muscle bound man both of them had expected. Instead, it was a beautiful blonde in tight yoga pants and an even tighter v-neck t-shirt, baby pink. Lisbon forced herself to get over the shock of the woman's appearance enough to smile in greeting.

"I'm Katie," she said brightly. "Where's the patient?"

"This way," said Teresa, stepping back and allowing her to come inside her apartment.

Jane was propped up on pillows on the bed in only his robe and hospital gown, and Teresa immediately wished she'd insisted he wear pants, painful or not.

"Patrick, right?" she said.

And there it was, the megawatt smile that never failed to make her heart skip a beat. Only this time, she thought sourly, it was directed at Katie.

"Yes. And you're Katie?"

"That's right! Are you psychic or something?" Her blue eyes grew even rounder.

"So I've been told," he said mysteriously.

_Sure,_ thought Teresa, rolling her eyes. _It wasn't as if she'd practically yelled her name two minutes ago._

"So, you ready to get to work?"

She clapped her hands together excitedly, her ample bosom jiggling. _Like a freakin' cheerleader_, thought Teresa uncharitably.

"No pain, no gain, right?" said Jane with much less enthusiasm.

Katie let go a tinkling laugh, and she set her hands gently on his right leg. "May I?"

"Well, normally I'd take you to dinner first," he quipped.

"Yeah, sure you would," Teresa said under her breath.

He caught Teresa's eye and had the audacity to wink at her, but she frowned, Katie's delighted laugh jarring on her nerves.

"You're too cute," Katie said to Jane. "Now, let's start by bending your knee as far as we can…"

"I'll just wait out here," said Teresa, but neither of them were paying attention to her anymore, especially when Jane groaned in agony. And just like he had predicted, Teresa took great satisfaction in the sound.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane's moans, groans and howls did becoming wearing after awhile, perhaps because some of the sounds sounded oddly similar to his cries of passion. But she shut that thought out, and tried to block the noise by turning up the TV. A half-hour later, Katie emerged from the bedroom, appearing even more enthusiastic than when she'd come in, if that were possible.

"How'd he do?" asked Teresa, getting up from the couch to show her out.

"Great. He'll probably be really sore the rest of the day, so don't hesitate to give him pain meds if he asks."

"Okay."

"I hope you don't think it's too unprofessional of me, but I gotta say, you're husband is a major hottie."

Teresa almost corrected her, but at the last minute, refrained for some reason.

"Thanks," she said. "He is, isn't he?"

"Yes, ma'am. You're a lucky girl. I'll be back day after tomorrow. See ya!"

"See ya," Teresa replied, almost mockingly. She closed the door on their visitor and strolled to the bedroom. Jane lay sprawled where Katie had left him, obviously exhausted, his face white with pain.

She went to his side, sympathy overtaking her earlier amusement.

"You okay?" she asked.

"No," he said, his eyes still closed.

"Sorry. You want your pain pill?"

"God, yes. And if you can mainline it, I'd be doubly grateful."

She smiled. "You poor baby. She really put you through the ringer, if your caterwauling was any indication."

"Dr. Mengele's got nothing on Katie," he said.

Teresa picked up the prescription bottle by the bed and tapped out a pill, then reached for a bottled water.

"Here you go," she said. "You might want to sit up…"

He took a labored breath and sat up on his elbows, opening his mouth like a baby bird. She raised an eyebrow, but popped the pill into his mouth and held the bottle to his full lips. He drank, his eyes never leaving hers, then he collapsed on the bed again with an all-too-familiar moan.

"I'll let you rest," she said, her heart pounding loudly. She turned off the lamp and walked to the door. She was about to close it behind her when he said:

"You really think I'm a hottie?"

"Well, Katie does, and that's what counts, right?"

He chuckled knowingly at her undisguised tone of jealousy, and she wished she had something in hand to throw at him.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane yelled out in the night, and Teresa was off the couch and in the bedroom like a shot.

"Jane?" she said, heart racing. "Are you okay?"

She could see by the moonlight streaming in through the half-opened blinds that he was still prone on the bed, and when he didn't answer her, she rightly deduced that he was sleeping. When he cried out again, she sat by his side on the bed, her hand going to his bare chest. It was cool and clammy.

"Shh," she said soothingly, "it's all right."

He was breathing heavily, thrashing about in a way that must be painful for his injuries. She shook him a little.

"Jane, wake up before you hurt yourself."

He came awake with a start. "Teresa?"

"Yes. You were having a nightmare."

"I was? I…I don't remember."

She had the distinct impression that he was lying about that, but she let it go. Dreams were private, after all.

"Sorry to wake you, but I was afraid you might fall off the bed or something."

"Oh, well…thanks."

She moved to leave, but his hand caught hers.

"Stay with me," he whispered in the darkness.

"I don't think that's—"

"No, it's _not _a good idea," he finished for her. "But stay anyway….please?"

She stayed.

**A/N: So, they're regaining some ground, but there's still a little more work for them to do to get where they need to be, emotionally and physically. Hope you'll continue on with their journey. **


	8. Chapter 8: Conclusion

A/N: Sorry this chapter is such a long time coming. I've been very busy lately. So here is the conclusion of this story. Thanks for those who reviewed the last chapter. I'm so glad you are enjoying my writing and taking the time to let me know your thoughts. Oh, and by the way, the end of this chapter flirts with the "M" rating, so be advised…

**Chapter 8: Conclusion**

The next morning, Teresa awoke to find that she had snuggled up to Jane in the night, one arm flung over his bare waist, her head pillowed on his chest. His left hand was in her hair, as if he'd fallen asleep while stroking it. She could hear his deep, steady breathing beneath her ear, the strong tattoo of his heartbeat, and she lay still, listening.

She sensed rather than felt his sudden awareness of her. He was awake as well, but he hadn't moved a muscle except for his heart, which seemed to skip a beat, then increase its pounding. She realized he was trying to control his breathing, not to give an indication of his wakefulness that might disturb her.

She smiled against his chest and knew he must have felt it, for his hand stiffened reflexively in her hair. She turned her head to look at him.

"Good morning," she said simply.

He opened his eyes, and then she was looking into them, solemn and still as doldrums in a blue-green sea.

"Good morning," he said.

They didn't speak anymore, as the night's events flooded back. His nightmare. His asking her to climb into bed beside him. It had taken a long time for both of them to fall asleep again, but it had been surprisingly comforting, feeling the other so close. She'd actually slept better than she had in days.

They stared at each other until a wave of warmth washed over them, and Teresa felt compelled to shift carefully forward until she was close enough to press her lips to his. His fingers wove into her hair, pressing her to deepen the kiss. It was slow and languid, the fire on a low simmer as they reintroduced themselves to one other, tongues lazily exploring, lips soft and seeking. But after a few moments, there was another decided shift, and the flame suddenly flared, her body desperately moving on top of his to get even closer. Her hands slid into his hair as well, a low hum of appreciation vibrating in her throat.

It was the sharp cry of pain against her lips that brought their kisses to an abrupt halt, and she pulled away as if she'd been burned, murmured apologies falling from her lips.

She sat up in bed and was about to move away, when his hand caught her forearm, staying her.

"It's okay," he said, his breath heavy, though more from their kisses than the accidental pain she'd caused. "It was just a twinge. My ribs…"

"Sorry," she said again.

His pain fading, a hopeful smile spread across his face. "Does this mean I'm forgiven?"

Her brows knit. "_You?_ I thought you'd been angry with _me_."

"I was, for maybe a day. Then I thought you were mad at me for being mad at you…"

"I was never _mad_ at you. Annoyed, maybe. Disappointed. Not mad."

Jane grinned sheepishly. "If I were still your psychologist, I'd have some serious doubts about my powers of perception."

Teresa smiled mischievously. "Why do you think I fired you?"

The hand on her arm slid up to her bare shoulder, teasing the edge of her tank top.

"You just wanted to get into my pants," he replied confidently.

She couldn't deny that.

"I still do," she whispered, her hand slipping beneath the covers.

He gasped as she traced the hardness she found there, his eyes darkening with renewed passion. He let her have her way with him a few moments, then, as his body tensed with desire, it also tensed in pain. His hand came down on top of the sheet to stop her.

"The spirit is more than willing, darling. Unfortunately, the flesh still has a way to go to catch up."

With one more gentle squeeze (and another gasp from him) she released him, then bent to kiss him softly to help ease the disappointment both of them were feeling.

"So," she began with forced brightness. "Need some help into the bathroom?"

"Yeah," he said. "Give me a few minutes to recover first, though."

She smirked a little and lay back on the bed. He reached for her hand and laced his fingers through hers.

_This is worse torture than Katie's handiwork, _he thought wryly. _Not being able to make love to her._

"I'll make this up to you someday very, very soon," he promised, after a moment's silence.

"Yes, you will," she said, and brought his hand to her lips.

There were still some things they needed to discuss, still some wounds that were open slightly, though the one on his leg was healing nicely. For the moment, however, they were both happy to have the tension between them come from attraction rather than discomfort in the other's company. There would be plenty of time to talk later.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**Later…**_

"Pretend I'm your client," said Teresa, sitting at the end of the couch in the living room, Jane's legs propped up on pillows in her lap. The television was tuned to an old Cary Grant movie both of them had seen a million times. She muted it and turned her head to Jane.

"Okay…" Jane replied, his lips quirking in amusement.

"What would you say if I was sitting on _your_ couch and told you I was to blame for the deaths of my family, and for a taxi driver and a young girl, when it was shown from a practical standpoint that I wasn't?"

He went still, and the humor faded from his eyes.

"Teresa…" he began, his tone cold with warning.

"Humor me, Dr. Jane," she said, equally serious.

He tried to sit up, but she held fast to his lower legs so he couldn't.

"You're going to keep me imprisoned on your couch until I talk?" He was beginning to get angry now.

"Yes."

"Why do you want to ruin the good mood of the past two days by bringing this up again? I don't want to talk about it."

"I gave up a great psychologist so I could be with you, Jane. But if you want a relationship with me, you're going to have to face this problem. I can't be with someone who is full of self pity, guilt, and denial."

"It's to be blackmail then." There was a reluctant touch of humor there at her audacity, but he was still stubbornly digging in.

"Yep."

He regarded her thoughtfully now, his anger abating a bit. Then he sighed. "Of course, as a psychologist, I would say that even though your feelings of guilt are irrational, that is the way you're feeling, so they are very valid feelings. You feel responsible for the deaths of four people. That's a big load to carry, especially when you know that logically, it isn't true."

"Hmm," she mused. "Interesting. And what would be my first step in trying to overcome those feelings?"

"Forgive yourself," he said simply. "Let it go. Get on with your life. You survived for a reason, etcetera, etc-" He swallowed hard over the lump in his throat as the truth of what he was saying at last sank in for him.

"Yes," she said, and she reached for his hand. Her eyes grew damp with unshed tears. "That's very good advice."

"It's going to take me awhile, Teresa," he said solemnly. "I can't ask you to wait for me."

"You don't have to ask," she said.

He was moving in the right direction, and it wouldn't be fair to ask him to heal more quickly than he was ready for. If either of them forced this, she was fairly certain it wouldn't take, and it might even set him back. She released his legs and slipped from beneath them, kneeling down beside him at the other end of the couch. She touched his face, and he pulled her closer, capturing her lips in a gentle kiss of gratitude.

"Despite what I've heard," she whispered against his lips. "You are a very good psychologist."

His soft chuckled vibrated pleasantly near her ear, and she shivered with want. He became distracted with her earlobe, then the soft skin at the nape of her neck, while her fingers invariably found the smooth curls of his glorious hair. They made out like teenagers for a few heady moments, their lips and tongues teasing one another in a sensual dance. It was probably a good thing the knock on the door distracted them, for Jane knew there was no way he'd be able to follow through with those passionate kisses. Not yet, at least.

Teresa stood up reluctantly and went to the door, looking through the peephole before opening it.

"Huh," she said in surprise. She glanced over at Jane and mouthed, _Cho._

She opened the door.

Besides Cho, Hannigan and Rigsby were there as well.

"Hi guys. This is a surprise."

"Boss," said each member of her team as they filed inside.

"Look, honey," said Jane with mock brightness. "The whole gang came over to cheer me up."

Only Rigsby smiled. "You're looking better than the last time we saw you, Dr. Jane."

"I _am_ better, thanks to Agent Lisbon's tender loving care."

Teresa frowned, then gave Jane a warning glance. Jane's grin widened.

Her small living room only had two chairs, and Jane was occupying the entire couch, so Cho helped her bring in two more chairs from the kitchen table.

"So, what's going on?" she asked them, when they were all seated.

"They're having trouble deciding who dunnit," Jane said intuitively.

"But how—" Rigsby began.

"Lucky guess," said Hannigan in annoyance. "Yeah, we think the man's wife could be the killer, but then there's the guy's business partner…"

Hannigan described the case and the horrific murder by fire. Rigsby, the arson expert, had assured them it hadn't been an accident.

"You have any pictures of your suspects?" Jane asked.

Cho had been holding the file and he handed it to Jane. Jane took a few moments to examine the two 8x10 glossies, one of which was of the married couple.

"It's the wife," Jane said positively.

"How can you tell?" asked Teresa, moving to look over his shoulder.

"She hates her husband. It's in the eyes."

"Well, we'll need a little more than _it's in the eyes_ to get an arrest warrant," said Hannigan.

"You'll find evidence of the crime probably in her gym bag at whatever gym she goes to for yoga class," said Jane confidently. They didn't even bother to question how he knew she did yoga. "Plus, he was probably having an affair, and she found out, so look for a girlfriend as well."

Cho glanced at Hannigan and Rigsby, his face changing only fractionally. Jane caught it and laughed.

"Cho agrees with me, eh? So, how much was the bet?"

Rigsby looked sheepish. "Twenty bucks."

"Well, I suggest you guys go check her locker at her gym," said Teresa. "And see if you can track down the girlfriend."

"On it, Boss," said Rigsby.

The men left, wishing Jane a speedy recovery, Hannigan giving Teresa a speculative look. It was obvious to the veteran investigator that his boss lady wasn't just helping out a guy down on his luck. She returned his look with a cool, expression that clearly told him, _none of your damn business._

Teresa returned to the couch, gently lifting Jane's legs so she could sit comfortably beneath the pillow that supported them.

"Come work with us," she said simply.

"Hmph," was his noncommittal response.

"Look, you're good at this, and I could see on your face how intrigued you are with a puzzle to solve. You could help us put a lot of bad guys away."

"There isn't some rule about dating your coworkers?"

Teresa blushed. "Is that what we'd be doing?"

"Yes," said Jane, meeting her eyes with a quiet intensity.

She swallowed, her heart picking up speed. "I'm not sure, but if you were hired on as a consultant, the rule about dating fellow team members might not apply to you."

"You think Minelli would be onboard?"

"Let's wait and see if your guess is right about this case, and if it is, he'll probably be over here himself to beg you to join."

Jane was quiet for a few minutes, turning the possibilities over in his mind. Teresa moved in for the kill.

"My ex-psychologist told me once that I was probably depressed because I was doing the same old thing all the time. I needed to be out among people, away from my work. Try new things…"

"This guy sounds pretty good. Maybe you shouldn't have fired him."

"Oh, but I'm cured now. See how happy I am?" She smiled warmly and leaned down to kiss the top of his bare foot.

It was then she discovered Patrick Jane's greatest secret—he was ticklish on his feet. He instinctively jerked his foot away from her lips, then groaned as the pain shot through his leg, then vibrated up through his sore ribs.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she exclaimed, but she couldn't keep that smile from her lips. He caught the mischief in her eyes and gave her a vengeful look.

"One day, Agent Lisbon, I'm going to be healed completely, and I will exact my revenge for all the teasing and pain you have inflicted upon my person. And be advised, I have the memory of an elephant."

"Oh, Dr. Jane," she said. "I can hardly wait."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**Two months later…**_

Jane awoke early and looked at the bedside clock. A half-hour until the clock radio would play their morning wake-up call—some silly pop song that would stay in his head and torture him the rest of the day at the CBI when he was trying to focus on more important things.

Beside him lay Teresa, her deep breathing and occasional twitching indicating she was likely in the middle of a dream. He hated to wake her, but he wanted her with a sudden passion that amazed him every time.

He'd been slowly paying her back for the past month now, since the doctor had given the all clear to resume _normal activities, _and awakening her in the early morning (and sometimes in the middle of the night) had become his favorite method of vengeance. She'd complain a little, upon first awakening, but soon she'd be crying out his name and neither of them would have any regrets about the loss of sleep.

He decided to start this morning under the covers, his hands still nimble and deft, utilizing the remembered pick-pocketing skills from his carney days in an entirely different way. She came awake on a moan of ecstasy, and his mouth found her bare breast beneath her sleep shirt, drawing out her pleasure while she gasped and gripped his shoulders convulsively.

And then he was sliding his hardness into her infinite softness, his mouth finding hers in a kiss so deep and searing, he felt as though he were completely melting into her body.

"That," he said later, as they lay on their backs, still panting from their sensual exertions, "was for that time you gave me a sponge bath—without the sponge."

She grinned at the memory, her eyes still closed, chest rising and falling in time to her pounding heart.

"When do I get that extra half-hour of sleep back?" she said with mock annoyance. "Aren't you finished with this payback thing yet?"

"What can I say, Teresa? I'm a vengeful person."

"A little on the obsessive side too," she added.

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have tickled my feet so many times. I warned you about karma."

She turned on her side to look at the man who had occupied her bed as well as her heart for the past three months.

"Well, somewhere along the line, I must have done something right, because here you are."

His face stretched into the familiar smile she loved so much, and he mimicked her pose, facing her. "Flattery will get you nowhere, my dear. It certainly won't reduce your sentence."

"Can't I give you a lovely compliment without you assuming I have some ulterior motive? You really must have some self esteem issues."

He chuckled. "No one has ever accused me of lacking self esteem. Usually, it's quite the contrary."

"Like I said…_problems_…"

She grew quiet, and her face softened as she looked at him with an emotion he was beginning to see more and more often, though he was fearful to name it. "Well," she began again, "would it inflate your ego too much if I told you that I—I love you?"

Neither of them had said the words out loud, and hearing them fall so sweetly from her lips, so unexpectedly, made his heart stop in his chest.

"Yes," he managed in an awed whisper. "I feel it swelling beyond capacity at the moment."

She grinned, moving to cover his body with her own. "Are you sure that's just your ego?"

He laughed and rolled her over until she was pinned beneath him once more. His hands framed her face, reveling in the smoothness of her cheeks, the sleekness of her hair.

"I love you too," he said, delighting in how her green eyes glimmered at his words. "And I'm so glad you sought professional help once upon a time. It was the best thing that ever happened to me."

"To both of us, Dr. Jane," she said, her hips rising to meet his. "To both of us."

**THE END**

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed this story. It's fun for me to think of them in a new way, and keeps me inspired to keep writing for this fandom. Thanks to all of you readers who took a chance on this AU. I'd love for you to go back and read some of my older fics (along with my current collaboration with Nerwen Aldarion, "Double Talk), if you are new to my writing. Hopefully it will help pass the time until we see some actual Jisbon on the show. It WILL happen, fellow shippers—I feel it in my bones!**


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